


Plague Bearer

by Urbanvix



Series: Plague Bearer [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Themes, Buckle up, Complicated yet consensual, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Faith and Sin, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Servant, McReid abounds!, Plot With Porn, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Recovery from trauma, Religion, Salvation/Damnation, Threesome is bestome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbanvix/pseuds/Urbanvix
Summary: Sean Hampton continues to tend his flock in a city preyed upon by (red-eyed) Reid and his Progeny, Geoffrey McCullum.For months, Sean has escaped Reid's attention, kept carefully apart by the monster himself for reasons Jonathan would rather not face. Now, that separation is no longer tenable. Sean's sickness must be treated.Hunter and Killer, Saint and Sinner, Monster and Doctor;  Three beasts and three men come together in the aftermath of the epidemic. There will be consequences. There will be blood. Yet wherever the Sad Saint stands, there will also - always - be light.***This series picks up after-the-credits of the game. Plaguebearer is about a 2 out of 10 on the AU scale since it follows on from the story & relationships in Grip.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid, Sean Hampton/Geoffrey McCullum, Sean Hampton/Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid, Sean Hampton/Jonathan Reid
Series: Plague Bearer [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594702
Comments: 19
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, quick realtalk first : I adore Sean. There are particular reasons for it which I went into in a longer note at the beginning of Wake. It's still there if you want to know. I know anything with Sean is a sensitive pairing for some, but there are reasons I feel I can write about it so explicitly... even darkly at times... and still have it be a work of love. 
> 
> If you're uncertain, I hope you can feel free to enjoy the story, the fantasy, and the smut, all the more knowing where it comes from. Thank you for reading :)

After the night at the pit, the days passed as quick as a sparrow's wings, fluttering in the teeth of winter.  
  
***  
  


“COME ON, YOU BASTARD.” McCullum roared as he drove down hard onto Reid. The bastard was right on the edge, lost in the friction of Geoffrey's body, but not over it, not yet.  
  
His Maker was flat on his back with McCullum riding, their arms interlocked over his body with claws tearing deep into each other. Jonathan had left off tugging his prick for this much more visceral, much more intense hold, giving Geoffrey the leverage he needed, amplifying their pleasure with the pain.  
  
Jonathan threw his head back at last and bared his fangs in a silent scream as he came explosively, emptying himself into Geoffrey's body. Their thoughts were still entwined, sensations entangled and Reid barely sagged for a moment before he threw his Progeny over.  
  
A moment after Geoffrey's head hit the pillow, Jonathan's lips closed around the head of his cock. Swift, deep kisses, long tongue lapping or lashing by turns, fangs pricking wonderfully under the rim of his head then swallowing him deep into his throat, again and again. Finally, Geoffrey joined him in release, his whole body shuddering, the stars coming out behind his eyes.

They fell together and lay still. Slowly, the walls rose. Thoughts disentangled.

Two beasts again, instead of one.

Afterwards, Reid draped his long arms over his Progeny's shoulders and they smoked in contented silence.

Eventually, Geoffrey asked. “Are you still taking Charlotte to that Do tonight?”

“I think,” Reid chuckled as he stretched, “She would be the first to assert that she's taking me.”

“Maybe, but I know better, beast. Best I get that then.” McCullum reached up and wiped away the splash still caught on Reid's dark beard. It felt so good to see the doctor so soiled, but better still when Reid caught his hand and brought it into his mouth to bite.

Geoffrey allowed himself a shiver and a growl, as Reid first drew then licked away the little beads of blood.

He added, “I'll try not to be too jealous while you two enjoy yourselves.”

Reid smiled, his lips still tight around Geoffrey's fingers, then kissed the knuckles and released it. “Trust me, I won't be with Leopold and his cronies. But it's too good an opportunity to let slip.”

He didn't need to explain further. Geoffrey already knew that Reid didn't fully enjoy these social engagements for the gossip. It was all part of the hunt for him; looking for threads to pull on now that he had promised to be more discriminating. Still, it was good for him.

They had half an hour before Charlotte arrived. Enough time to enjoy getting clean together, dress and impress upon Reid all the bloody good reasons to keep this suit on later.

Like Sean, Charlotte would kneel for no man. Unlike Sean, Charlotte made an exception for Reid.

As soon as she came through the door, she lowered her eyes and took a knee for their little ritual. Jonathan no longer growled when he first saw her, but there was always a tangible easing of tensions after Charlotte bit his offered wrist, and took his blood.

“You look good, lass.” Geoffrey complimented her as he embraced her, now that it was safe.

She smiled coquettishly. “I look _amazing_ , but thank you Geoffrey. Are you ready to go Doctor Reid?”  
  
That was it then, as they left looking so classy it could make a man sick. This was the third night in a row that McCullum intended to go without feeding. The hunger was there, singing in his throat, but it was manageable. Still, it made seeming human more difficult.  
  
This would not be a night to drop in at Priwen. That much was a worthwhile price to train himself, so that he would never become the kind of vampire who snacked on passers-by just because he hadn't found a real bastard to hunt.

The necessary compromise was... on nights like this... being at a loose end.  
  
***  
  
There were no locks on the door, but Sean trusted the late hour and his keen senses to assure his privacy for a few moments. He was not sure about this, not sure at all. But, it needed to be done.

Crouching low, he gave a quick prayer, and tried to jump.

It felt like falling, but upwards. He had to bite down a yelp as his shins barked against the top of the bookcase. His head spun. He almost didn't catch the edge before he fell.

He hung for a moment, trying to catch his breath as the world tilted all around him. Abruptly, he heard someone coming and wondered if it would be better to fall, and risk breaking a leg or worse, or be found hanging like this. Hanging, surely, since -  
  
Mr McCullum arrived below him, and Sean thanked God.

“Good – evening.” He gasped.

“Sean.” The man sounded amused, faintly chiding as you would a child. “Do you need a hand?”

“I fear – I could.”  
  
The strong arms reached up and helped him down. As soon as Sean's feet reached the floor though, his legs buckled and Mr McCullum had to catch him again.

“Easy now. Let's sit you down. What were you doing up there, you daft bastard ?”  
  
“The window. It's broken.” Sean tried to explain as he sank down gratefully in a chair. “The cold. Need to cover it.”

McCullum looked over at the long window, mostly boarded over except for the highest panes, which were shot-through with spiderweb fractures and a frost-rimmed hole.

“Have you considered using a ladder, Sean?” He sounded amused.

“Broken too.” Sean's head was beginning to clear. “The temperature is dropping again. It ought not to wait, and I thought I might be able to mend it myself.” Sheepishly, he added. “But I'm not very good at it.”

“Let it never be said you lacked for courage,” McCullum laughed. “There's nothing else I need to do tonight, _mo_ _chara_. I'll take care of it. Where is everything?”  
  
True to his word, McCullum put his own inhuman might to the task, and it was done much faster than Sean would have managed.

He had been so disorientated, that it took quite a while for Sean to realise he had been perfectly happy to let Mr McCullum pluck him from the wall. His touch had not bothered him whatsoever.  
  
***  
  
The Saint was grand enough company. Besides, McCullum was starting to realise he ought to take his own good advice. On nights like these, going to the shelter was a good habit to keep. He might be hungry. He might be on edge. He might occasionally glance at the sleepers with a touch of temptation but, unlike Priwen, they would never know.

Sean's flock was safe, from him at least.  
  
***  
  
The next time Jonathan asked for a blood sample, Sean relented.  
  
Drawing a professional air and a polite smile around his inner monster, Jonathan said only. “Right then. It will be easier with a table. Shall we go inside?”  
  
He set up two chairs, thought carefully, then sat down. As if laying a place at the little table, he took out the velvet case and opened it, revealing his needles. He was determined to make this as expeditious as possible for Sean... and for himself. They would need to repeat it often.  
  
Sean could not be allowed to become shy of the procedure. Jonathan could not allow himself to become enamoured of it. He must think of it as Sean would; a medical necessity, only.

“When you are ready Sean, please remove your tunic and roll up your shirt sleeve. I will need to take a look at your veins to determine which needle I ought to use.”

He was careful not to look at Sean, not to do anything that might let him equate this with undressing before another man. Jonathan kept his eyes on the chair, until Sean moved into view, nervously laying his left arm out along the table.  
  
“Please, rotate so that I can see the inside of your arm.”  
  
Sean did so. Out of the corner of his eye, Jonathan saw him bite his lip. The Skal's eyes were wide with suppressed fear, latent trauma and bad memories. That was his fault, Jonathan knew, and did not mention it.  
  
Instead, he selected a needle quickly and screwed it onto the chamber. Sean's skin looked impossibly thin, appearing almost bruised where blood travelled close to the surface.

“I must touch you now, Sean. I need to palpate the vein. I promise it will be brief.”

Sean nodded permission.

Focusing on clinical thoughts, Jonathan reached out and took hold of the Skal's arm, fingers already hovering. Sean flinched. Jonathan removed his hands, and waited.

Sean laughed weakly, self-depreciatingly, and returned his arm to the table. Jonathan nodded and resumed.

Sean's skin seemed to thrum under his hand; a low-key vibration, as though an electric current were running through him. It was... seductive. The slow pulse under his fingertips should not have been enticing. Skal blood was stale; nourishing but never enjoyable. Yet, somehow, Sean's was tempting.

Jonathan did not dwell on it. Instead, he attended to his work, focusing on all that the long-dead human doctor would have done.

The needle slid cleanly in. Sean did not flinch. If anything, he seemed to relax into it now, likely reassured of the purely medical purpose of their contact. It took a little longer than he'd intended, because Sean's blood was much thicker, much more sluggish than he was used to. But it was done, and quickly.

Jonathan did not look up until he had removed his hands completely. When he did, he saw that the Skal was edgy, nervous, worried.

“Thank you Sean.” He had meant to speak gently, to reassure him, but his own voice refused to comply. It came instead from the low place, hoarse with something like hunger. Standing quickly, Jonathan closed his case before he tormented the man further... before he could _decide_ _to_ torment the man further.  
  
Sean was a Skal, and he must never forget the demands of his own Ekon instincts.

“I will be certain to let you know anything I discover.” He promised, and left.  
  
***

  
Reid did not return to the house for sunrise. That was alright. If McCullum let his mind wander, he could hear the characteristic mutter his mind made when he was working.  
  
Shameful though, as he lay back on the wide double bed, that his thoughts so quickly drifted back to Sean. Sean, whose scent was a mix of communal meals, wool and books; earthy and honest. No more stink of decay on him than there was on McCullum. He hadn't expected that from a Skal.

Sean's hand on McCullum's chest, conflicted, as though needing to know he could push away, but wanting the contact to last.  
  
Sean, who had pressed against his body with a cross that did not burn him, and offered him something like forgiveness.  
  
No wonder Reid couldn't stand to look at him.  
  
***  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time seldom spent in idleness.

“Evening, _Séan_. Need a hand with that?”  
  
Another week came and went. Geoffrey McCullum came to shelter more and more these nights. Every time he came, Sean knew what danger he was in. Despite that though, he could not help but enjoy the Ekon's company.

His thick accent reminded him of home, and the Irish phrases that peppered his words like endearments made their friendship feel older than it was. He suspected Mr McCullum did not know why he himself found so much comfort in the acquaintance.

Sean was a Skal. His kind were made to serve. Neither ready prey, nor adversary to McCullum's vampire nature. Their easy companionship was one an Ekon could have with no other creature. Old Bridget had warned him well, well enough to brace himself against the tide, to be prepared for the moment when that Ekon nature might assert itself, and _command_ where he ought to have asked.  
  
Yet, as the nights passed, it became clear that McCullum had no such intention. Sean began to feel that he could trust him. He was a tormented soul, but he was kind. Truly kind.

  
***  
  
Jonathan had insisted upon finding a house where he could set up a study for his work, populating it with everything he would need. The plunge in house prices after the war and epidemic, along with his inheritance, had afforded them more than he'd expected. One day, he would decorate it properly. For now, he worked there and enjoyed the luxury of space.

As he studied Sean's blood, Jonathan became certain that the power-dynamic between Skals and Ekons was more than just ego and sensibility. He made a mental note to investigate that separately, once he had completed the more pressing work of finding a cure.  
  
Every time he came near Sean, he felt it. Too often, he started to command, before he remembered to _ask_. Too often, he had to remind himself that Sean would not welcome his touch. Too often, he had to remind himself that it _mattered._

It was tempting, eternally tempting, just as the people of the Saint's shelter were tempting. Contact with Sean was electric, satisfying a void he hadn't noticed before.

Geoffrey had been right. Sean was his Skal, belonging to him, awakening every possessive instinct in his blood.

Yet Sean was the only man who linked him to that frightened doctor, to a mortal sense of perspective, to worthwhile regrets. Jonathan Reid was a monster but he was **not** an animal. There would always be duality, complexity, a sharp mind beyond the thirst.  
  
A week after the first sample, as he took another from Sean's willing vein, he made a decision.  
  
He would limit his contact only to this. It was the only way to be sure that he could keep Sean separate from his monstrosity, and retain him as a reminder of the difference between The Doctor and The Monster; the complexity of personality, which was a close kin to humanity.  
  
After all, it would be best for both of them if he did not become further attached.

  
*** **  
  
**It was a bitter night. Radiators rattled against the cold from the cracked windows. Housekeeping and maintenance wasn't high on the priorities for Priwen's headquarters in London.

McCullum swore, loud and long. The report from Flanders was worse than anticipated; exactly the sort of thing he had rejoined the Guard to avoid.

Leah Smith was dead, along with four others less familiar to him. Of the only five Guard who knew what he was, she had been one of the first. She had treated him like a person from the get-go, pitying his plight but never mincing her words. He had liked her, even if she had turned out to be a damned spy.

Dammit.

“I need to get over there.” He said, roughly. “As soon as possible.”

But Melvin Kelley, the little twerp, was having none of it. “I'm supposed to discourage you if you suggest that. You're supposed to be healing.”

“Then I can at least lend them my advice and experience. From the sound of this, it's a nest, or a pack. Either way, Flanders is a breeding ground and we need to cull these beasts before they recruit.”

“We know, Mr McCullum. But I've been told... to tell you... that three teams are being sent over tonight, and that they know what they're dealing with. In another month, it will all be different, and I've been told to promise you'll have a place on the boat. But you can't yet.”

McCullum snorted. “What the hell did you do to get the job of messenger tonight?”

Kelley shuffled his feet, blushing. “Stevens.”  
  
McCullum rolled his eyes. “That sounds about right. Fine, show me the lists.”  
  
They had needed some hefty reworking, so at least McCullum could help there. Afterwards, he found himself heading for the Saint's Night Asylum. He hadn't chosen to but, with his mind in turmoil, it was where his feet took him.

He almost ran into Reid on his way out of the compound, missing him only because the Doctor turned down a side-street before seeing him. 

Geoffrey thought better of the temptation to get the jump on him. Easy enough to see that Reid was in a bestial mood; the urge for violence straining beneath the civilised facade. If he hadn't just killed someone, he was probably about to. Anyone is his path wo-

 _Sean_. Geoffrey thought, with a stab of concern.  
  
Keeping his thoughts to himself, as much as he could, he slipped inside and made his way straight to the back room. He opened the door without knocking.  
  
Sean was sitting at the table, arms wrapped round himself, one hand fixed tight around his cross. Even as he looked up towards the door, he was crying, as he so often did; silently, passively, almost as though he did not realise that he was.  
  
Anger bubbled, simmering. He'd fucking _kill_ Reid.  
  
“Sean.” He said, as gently as he could, though he could hear his own growl.  
  
“Oh,” The Saint pawed at his cheeks, wiping away the tears. “Mr McCullum.” His voice was heavy with sorrow, but lightened considerably as he swallowed. “I had not realised you were here as well.”  
  
“What did he do?”  
  
Sean look startled, “What do you mean, my friend?”

“Don't try to put a bow on it, _mo chara,_ you don't need to _._ I saw Reid leave. What did he do?”  
  
Sean was rising to his feet, his expression reassuring, his eyes full of concern. “He did nothing at all. He only took my blood, as he does regularly now. It always troubles him. He does not like to do it often.”

“Then,” McCullum felt adrift, but found his feet in anger. “Why the hell are you crying?”  
  
“I was sad, that was all.” The Saint laughed, still sadly but earnest in his efforts to reassure. “I am well known for it.”

“Oh.” McCullum breathed out. It had been so _easy_ to assume, despite everything, despite knowing Reid better than that. He felt a fool. “I'm sorry for jumping on you.”

“Not at all, I appreciate the concern.” Very quietly, almost pleadingly, the Saint said. “But, I... I am glad you are here.”  
  
“Something you need help with?” He wasn't exactly in the mood for manual labour, but it might help work out the tension.  
  
“Yes.” He trailed off, found his voice again. “May I... May I make a confession to you, Mr McCullum?”

“I'm a bit lapsed, Saint, especially lately.” Seeing the tears once again flowing down Sean's cheeks, he closed the door and moved further into the room. “But I'll hear you, if you need someone to.”  
  
Sean's expression shut down, “I did not mean as a man of god. That would be inappropriate. But... I do... need a friend.”  
  
“Then I'm here _mo chara._ ” Geoffrey said, taking a seat.

Sean dropped his gaze to the floor, thumbing his rosary. “I need to confess that I have been guilty of pride. I have convinced myself that I need not burden others with my weakness. But Father forgive me, yesterday I realised that the hunger has returned.” He hesitated, “Tonight, I could not speak of it to Doctor Reid.”

“Shit. That's two months.” McCullum said, “Is that sooner than last time?”  
  
“Not by much. Perhaps a little earlier, but that may be because my blood has been taken. It started this way before. Only, I did not know then where it would lead. Of course, you reminded me it was my duty to my fold to tell you if it did.”

McCullum nodded, understanding. For now, this was the only way the Saint could ask for what he needed.

To the unspoken question, he answered. “I'll provide what you need. How would you like to do this?”

He might pour his blood into a glass... like wine... but it always flowed slowly when he hadn't fed. Perhaps he could take a draw himself and spit it into a cup, but that seemed... obscene.

“However you are comfortable with, Mr McCullum.” The Saint said meekly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Geoffrey rubbed his face with his hands. “Honestly, Saint. I don't know enough. Most reliable would be from the wrist the way Reid does it, but you can stay sat down, if you're alright with that.”

The Saint swallowed, roughly. His voice was a whisper. “I would be alright with that.”

“Alright then.”

No point messing around or gilding the lilly. McCullum raised his hand to his mouth and took a single, slashing bite.

Sean straightened immediately, nostrils flaring. But he held himself back as McCullum came around behind his chair, and reached around to offer his wrist at head-level. It seemed like the best way to avoid making him bend over for it.  
  
Sean's breath was coming in ragged, hungry pants, as the composed little Saint gave way to the animal inside. Still, he was gentle, loving even, as he took McCullum's arm in both his hands and brought it to his lips.

 _Jesus Christ._ McCullum staggered as every nerve, every hair on his body, perked up and took an interest in what Sean's mouth was doing.

God, it was like a second-hand blood high, shooting up his arm into his chest, dragging his own fangs down with a soft sting. He had to grab hold of the chair to steady himself, but Sean didn't care. He was mumbling now, grunting, pulling hard and oblivious to the reaction his urgent need caused. That reaction was growing... along with a great many unchristian thoughts.  
  
God, if only Sean weren't Sean. The other things Geoffrey would like to do with that mouth...  
  
No. He had to pull himself back from it. Reid managed it, so could he. Jesus, no wonder he pulled away so quickly after letting Sean start.

The little Skal didn't fight him, though he fell forward in dismay as Geoffrey wrenched his arm away. The Saint folded forwards over his knees, breathing hard. This time, Geoffrey understood.

He had to adjust and think Christian thoughts himself, while the bulge in his trousers subsided. Was this a Skal effect, or a Sean effect? Best not to think about it.

As soon as he could, he let Lottie know that Doctor Reid had given the Saint something for his condition, and asked where he slept. Somehow, he kept them both virtuous and chaste, while he carried Sean through and tucked him in.

With a shiver and a nod to Lottie, he set himself on the path back home.

***  
  
Jonathan threw his head back, blood thick and cooling on his tongue. The icy air all-but stung his lungs in delicious counterpoint to the heat unfolding through his body. His mind settled from the conflict awoken by Sean.

The man's last thoughts babbled, bewildered. _Who were you? What were you? It shouldn't end like this._

As the glorious haze passed, Jonathan took a moment to savour the crisp air, drawing the breath deep. Snowdrops were lifting their heads in Rotherhide park, piercing the frozen ground like little teeth. He paused in the act of lifting the man's body and wiped a little of the blood from his lips. He flicked it down among them, leaving a splash of crimson on the tiny fangs.  
  
A pretty sight.

A light thrumming on the air; a Skal's heartbeat. It seemed his kill had been witnessed. He debated whether to kill the ghoul or only drive it off, before he recognised the ethereal figure approaching through the trees.

“Old Bridget.” He called out with a sincere smile. “I had begun to wonder if you'd left the city.”  
  
“London is our home, young Ekon.” She answered, ducking her head diffidently but smiling back. “Even if no one sees us, we will always be here.”

He nodded to the truth of that, then hefted the man's dead weight. “Would you like this? I'd be happy to carry it to your sewer entrance if so.”  
  
She seemed to hesitate at first but said, “Thank you. Yes, we would be glad of it.”

“It's no trouble.” He tried to keep his voice reassuringly human, and young, as he manoeuvred the corpse to avoid staining his clothes.

As they walked together through the empty park, he ventured. “I'm glad to see you. Shameful to admit, but I have begun to run thin on ideas to conceal my kills.” He paused, considering. “Would you like to come to a more regular arrangement?”

“No.” She said quickly, firmly, then softened. “Thank you. I know you mean well, young Ekon, but it would be ill-advised. A regular gift would court too much of the old history between our kind.”  
  
“I have no intention of imposing on you.”  
  
She tilted her head, looking up at him under the long lashes, scars and pockmarks, “No matter your intentions, we are Skals. Your nature surmises a preference for our role in the world, even if you are kind enough not to acknowledge it.”  
  
“I understand.” Jonathan said soberly. “But consider yourself welcome to approach me, at any time, for as long as you feel you can.”

“Thank you. Though I admit, it was not only providence that guided me to you tonight. I did have a reason for seeking you out.”  
  
“Come now.” Jonathan chided, “I may no longer be the frightened man you met below the Saint's shelter, or the victorious 'young Ekon' who came after that. But I hope you may still speak freely with me. We have been through more than enough together. You wish to speak about Sean, I expect?”  
  
“Yes. I was worried for him, but I am glad you have seen to his needs again.”

“I hadn't intended it.” A growl slid in under the words. “But the timing was fortuitous, to say the least. How long as has it been since he resumed eating corpses?”

Old Bridget told him as much as she could remember. She was honest with him, as far as he could tell. Sean's remission seemed to have been short-lived, and the rate of relapse had accelerated exponentially. It did not bode well.

“Tell me, Old Bridget.” He said, feeling troubled after. “It was William Marshall's blood that healed you, wasn't it? That is why you are more intact than the other sewer Skals”

She did not answer.

“It would explain a little of why Lord Redgrave had it, and it might help to know.”

Still, she did not answer, except to say. “It is in your nature to seek answers, both as the Ekon you are and the man you were. But that part of my tale will remain my own, for now.”

Her refusal stirred something deep and bestial in his chest, and he had to recognise the truth of her earlier words. He couldn't keep the growl from his voice, but he could and would choose which of his impulses he gave into. It was his pleasure to be a civilised monster. She would tell him, eventually, when she trusted him enough. “Very well, Old Bridget.”

The gathering tension eased a little. Even so, they did not speak again until they had opened the way to the sewers, and she had taken the corpse from him. She became re-emboldened then, close to her means of escape.

“Doctor Reid, I am concerned by the amount of contact between your Progeny and the Sad Saint. I wished to raise it your attention, before it becomes too late.”

Jonathan cocked his head. “Tell me.”  
  
“You are all yet young and new to this world. It would be too easy for them to form a connection, with so little experience and no hand to guide them. What began in innocence could end too easily in slavery. I would not wish the Sad Saint to be taken advantage of.”  
  
The words were too close to Jonathan's own, at the pit. He had to chuckle. “It is only my blood he has taken, Old Bridget. Geoffrey is not a man to force an issue.”

“True. But does your Progeny not share that blood?”

Jonathan conceded. “Even so, if what you say is true, regular contact between him and us may be inevitable. I doubt I will find any kind of cure for Sean in the near future, if at all. Though I intend to try.”

Her sad smile creased her tired eyes with genuine gratitude. “It relieves me to know that you will not give up, young Ekon.”

That made him smile, fangs and all. “You don't just mean that about Sean, do you?”

“No.” She said softly. “But your Progeny is a far more immediate creature than his Maker, less at ease with his nature. A Skal can be a great comfort to an Ekon in pain.”

Jonathan only smiled at that assumption, and gestured for her to continue.

“The Sad Saint refuses to withdraw to save himself. If that outcome is inevitable, I truly believe that you would maintain his freedom, if only to keep him in the world. I fear your Progeny may not. I do not know the man well, but I fear he is not so alert to his own covetous instincts.”

“How much....” The growl returned, unbidden. “How much contact has there been?”

She looked pained, “I am unseen, young Ekon, not omnipresent. But I know he is with him again tonight.”

Without anger, Jonathan asked. “In what way?” The growl was moving lower in his chest, down towards that deep and ancient place.

“I suspect nothing overt.” Bridget reassured him, carefully. “Not yet. Were they mortal men, I would encourage them to that conclusion, even if only because I see how it lightens Sean's burdens. But you and I both know the danger that presents.”

“Yes.” The urge towards violence was rising, but he restrained himself. “I do see. Thank you for your advice, Old Bridget. I hope I will see you again soon.”


	3. Rising and Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward' ~ Ecclesiastes 3:21
> 
> (Go on, have some smut)

When Jonathan arrived back at the house, he could already hear Geoffrey's mind in the throes of imagined combat. That was good. This might be _delicate_. Better that his Hunter was in a combative frame of mind; it would make his own that much less intrusive.

The Hunter was on the ground floor, in the empty rooms which would have contained a kitchen and dining room for any normal couple. Geoffrey had stripped the lot for practice space, lining the walls with weapons and targets.

As Jonathan came in, Geoffrey pointedly took the head off the mannequin with a neat slash, before turning to acknowledge him with an upwards nod.  
  
 _A shame he doesn't sweat._ Jonathan thought, catching the gleam in Geoffrey's eye and the bright glint of fangs barely concealed beneath his lips. Sad to realise that the Hunter would never again be flush with the strain of exertion.

Ah well. There was ample compensation.  
  
Jonathan selected a rapier from the wall as he set out the terms, his own fangs singing down in anticipation. “No chemicals, no shadows.”

“No blood spears. No commands.” Geoffrey added in his sweet brogue, moving along the wall to take his amulet from the hook and slip it around his neck. The connection between them went immediately quiet; hiding his progeny's thoughts a little better. Jonathan wouldn't be able to anticipate him by that, even unintentionally.

Jonathan nodded acquiescence. “Swords, claws and teeth only.”

Geoffrey took his guard, and nodded his agreement, smirking already. A challenge had been laid.

Jonathan flourished the blade in reply. “ _Allez._ ”

Geoffrey wasted no time. A flash of shadows and the blades locked. Jonathan's off-hand sang with exquisite pain as his claws ripped free, lashing out at the Hunter. Geoffrey dropped. Jonathan realised too late he'd played into a trap as his legs were knocked out from under him.  
  
The Hunter lunged for a hold, but Jonathan was faster. Rolling, he slashed at Geoffrey as he rose, checking his charge, bringing the swords up between them again.

“Bravo.” He hissed, as their swords locked again. He was being forced to engage precisely where Geoffrey would have preferred; at sword distance. It was a savagely clever little trick. Geoffrey must have been working on it.

“Shut up, leech.” Geoffrey snarled, making small, token slashes, forcing a response. He was moving fluidly, almost weightlessly, embracing his vampiric strength to fight almost as Jonathan did. It was beautiful to behold.  
  
 _Even so..._

Jonathan skipped back and darted sideways, once, and again, seeking an opening. The Hunter hissed and spun, just as quick as he was. The room blurred, everything blurred, except Geoffrey. Parry and repost. Beat and feint. Back and forth. Strength and steel singing as the world spun around them. Nothing mattered but the vortex and... occasionally... the tang of blood livening the air.

Soon enough, old habits dredged up, draining all elegance from the fight. Geoffrey drove in hard and Jonathan finally took the advantage. Claws flashed, up under the ribs, fingertips brushing soft meat. The pommel slammed into Jonathan's cheekbone, clicking his teeth together, but he caught the Hunter in a savage hold and dragged him to the ground.

Geoffrey contorted, slamming a knee onto his wrist, snapping the delicate bones, shorting out the tendons. Jonathan's rapier spun away. He drove claws into the Hunters back, forcing him to sacrifice his leverage, wrenching him away.  
  
Jonathan on the ground, Geoffrey on his feet. Both healing. Both snarling.  
  
The Hunter charged and Jonathan leapt to engulf him. They slammed into the ground again, twisting. Jonathan found himself below but that was just _fine_. The greatsword clanged somewhere off to the side. Both disarmed now. Tearing again, tearing deeper, to slip away again when The Hunter arched back.

They both recovered their swords, and took their guard at a wary distance.

It had been quick, bloody, brutal, and entirely satisfying. Reid grinned. “You've been practising.”  
  
“And you've been slacking.” Geoffrey countered, amused.

They circled, as Jonathan admitted. “I **have** been distracted, lately.”  
  
“Sean is no excuse, leech. That's recent. How long as it been since you picked up a sword?” Geoffrey took a heavy double-step, encouraging Jonathan to adjust his guard. He did so willingly, already anticipating the Hunter's next move.

Jonathan growled gently, probing, encouraging him to react. “Appropriate that you brought him up. Sean's been more of a distraction for you, I fear, Hunter. I've been told you're spending a lot of time at the shelter.”  
  
“Who's the gossip?” Geoffrey asked, intrigued, but never taking his eyes off his maker. It seemed he was entirely oblivious to any wrongdoing.

“Someone who values their privacy.” Jonathan answered, stepping in with a pair of quick slashes. His weapon was faster, but Geoffrey wielded his greatsword as if he'd been born to it, parrying easily, driving Jonathan back under the greater weight. “You need to stay away from him.”  
  
“You jealous again, beast? You've no cause.”

“He's a Skal. You never quite listen to what your blood is telling you.” Jonathan saw his progeny's grip tighten, and allowed his own guard to relax a little, luring him in. “Stay away from him now.”

Geoffrey growled, resentfully, and his left foot turned.

That was all Jonathan had been waiting for. As Geoffrey committed to the attack, Jonathan leapt first, closing the distance in a single step and slamming into him, chest-to-chest, hard enough to force him to one knee as his brought his sword down on the Hunter.

A blinding pain struck. Fire and lightening flashed behind his eyes.  
  
Jonathan grunted. It could only be a gut-wound, clean through and into his spine. Geoffrey had won the double-bluff, striking upwards as Jonathan swung down. Straight through his centre.  
  
“Got you.” The Hunter growled, sounding satisfied as he twisted his blade and eased Jonathan down to the ground. Jonathan could only gasp acknowledgement, and yield.

He lay on his back, healing as Geoffrey cleaned his blade and returned it to the rack.

“That was... impressive.” Jonathan conceded.

It seemed the Hunter was in a playful mood tonight. Rather than offering his hand, he stood above him and nudged him with his boot.

“Nah. You're just getting slow, Reid. Keep this up, and it won't have to be me who takes you down.”

Jonathan chuckled, hauling himself up to his feet. “Easy to say, Hunter, when I sacrificed most of my arsenal to be sporting.”  
  
Geoffrey grabbed his shirt and spun him, pressing him into the wall with his body. “So did I, leech. Don't forget.”  
  
The kiss was deep. As Geoffrey's strong hands travelled under his buttocks, squeezing, Jonathan reached up and unclasped the amulet, letting the thoughts roll over him.

In victory, Geoffrey's appetite reigned supreme, and his mind ran red with hungry thoughts. One, in particular, caught Jonathan's attention; the desire to reverse their roles, just for once, even if only for once.

Perhaps it was only because Jonathan had been experimenting with tenderness, engaging with his more human self for Sean's sake. But the idea was... welcome.

His lips brushed against Geoffrey's fangs as he spoke into the kiss, “My, aren't we in a mood tonight, Hunter?”  
  
Geoffrey only growled, burying his face in Jonathan's neck as he lifted him against the wall. Jonathan rumbled in reply, and ran his hands down the Hunter's back, savouring as always the knotted ropes of muscle under his fingers.

Geoffrey hummed into his ear, nipping gently, without drawing blood. He was thinking, _I did beat you._

“You did.” Jonathan smiled, teasing him onwards, letting his claws catch in the bare skin. “My dear Hunter. So many others tried and failed. But not you.”  
  
Geoffrey grumbled and nibbled the skin of his neck, less gently now.

Jonathan twisted to bring his lips against Geoffrey's ear and whisper, “Come on then.”  
  
Geoffrey's surprise was always a delight. Even more so, the sudden violence with which he pressed his Maker against the wall, lifting Jonathan's legs around his thick waist.

Fangs slid and clashed as they both shrugged out of their jackets, then attacked one another's shirts while the walls came down between them. They each took quick, fleeting bites of exposed skin, darting mouthfuls of testosterone and lust, sharing the cocktail in each kiss.

When Geoffrey stepped back to attend to his belt, Jonathan leapt coyly away to the corridor in a burst of shadows. Geoffrey was on him just as quickly, pinning him to the wall again, seizing handfuls of flesh and kissing the back of his neck with an open mouth and sharp fangs, his stubble rough against the skin.  
  
Jonathan savoured it for a moment, then pushed free. Geoffrey caught him at the top of the stairs, pressing him back onto the little coffee table, knocking over the vase of red roses Jonathan liked to leave there.  
  
Before it even hit the ground, shattering into diamonds of glass, they were in the bedroom.  
  
 _Of course._ He heard his Hunter thinking. _He's so damn proper._

Their thoughts entangling, they stripped one another bare, tearing away the expensive trousers with a little cry of dismay from Jonathan, silenced by Geoffrey's mouth.  
  
Geoffrey's hunger was spectacular, fuelled by his victory over his Maker. He felt strong tonight, oozing masculinity, powerful enough that even Reid could be tempted to give over, just this once.  
  
Still, he would never yield fully to his Progeny. Hand around Geoffrey's throat, Jonathan held him away from his face, gazing into his eyes with a soft, fang-filled smile as he brought the pressure to bear; _Mine._  
  
His other hand twined around Geoffrey's cock, cupping the weight covetously. The Hunter tilted his chin into the choke-hold and nuzzled roughly against him as he savoured the moment, the reminder, the power of his maker over him.

  
***  
  


Descending, pressing him down onto the bed, Jonathan straddled him, tightening his narrow legs around the Hunter's sturdy thighs. Geoffrey wrapped him in his arms as their cocks pressed heavily together and answered in kind; _Mine._

Like this, then.  
  
While Geoffrey ran his hands over his Maker, Jonathan plucked up the oil and cracked it open, then paused.  
  
“Ask me for it.” He goaded, devilishly, holding it back.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You can't without this. I won't let you.” Jonathan purred, “So ask me. Properly. We both know it's the only time you will,” A darker tone, “Unless I make you.”

McCullum gave a vicious little snarl, digging his claws into Reid's legs. “You'll pay.”  
  
“I know, my progeny.” He whispered, hoarse and hungry.  
  
Shivering, relishing the utter debasement of it, revelling again in the long fall from grace that had brought him here, Geoffrey held his hand out for the bottle.

“ _Please_ Maker.”  
  
He would be a great deal less gentle for that.  
  
Even as Geoffrey slid one finger then another inside, teasing Jonathan open, his Maker didn't give up control. He rolled his hips, sliding himself back and forth on the slicked digits, his own hand sneaking down to squeeze and slick McCullum's shaft _._ They both hissed as smooth fingers and rough knuckles ground their stiffness together, pinning them into an unfolding, complex pressure beneath Reid's gyrations.

Soon enough, under his ministrations, Jonathan was forced to leave off and fell to purring and moaning, softly, against the skin of his neck. His breath was warm. He had fed well.

Growling so deep it shook them both, Geoffrey took a handful of Reid's ass with one hand, and guided himself with the other. The vampire arched at the barest touch. Geoffrey kissed his Maker's throat, tongue playing over his adam's apple and shuddered at the long-forbidden feeling of Reid's ass parting around the tip of his cock.

He held back, forcing himself to patience. He was girthy man. Reid would need time to adjust. One of God's little ironies; equipping him best for women whilst giving him the lust for both genders.

The thought, perilously close to Sean's language, made him shudder. Reid had caught it too and it tantalized him. He purred deliciously, the vibrations rumbling inside his body as he rocked down onto Geoffrey, and showed him just how little this monster cared for the discomfort, only wanting _more,_ only wanting it _now_.

Then Reid made a strangled sound close to a fucking _whimper,_ and Geoffrey lost his restraint utterly. He dragged him down, hard, hands locked around Reid's hips.

Their inner beasts settled now, the conflict between Maker and Progeny ended by the blurring sense of which was which.  
  
Long legs swung free around muscular thighs as Geoffrey lifted and slammed Reid into the wall, taking him exactly how he'd wanted him to begin with; hands under his legs, spreading his arse, fucking him standing. He moaned too, his self-control ablated by the pressure. He could keep it up however long as he wanted. Reid had forced that inhuman stamina and strength upon him with his blood. This was Reid's punishment for that. For everything. A punishment long, long overdue as Reid's tight and narrow body took his wide cock to the hilt.  
  
Reid's voice in Geoffrey's ear, breathless. “ _More._ ”  
  
The most welcome command in the fucking world.

They slid to the table, and Geoffrey threw him down onto it, fucking him horizontally, pinning him, hooking him under the shoulders. Even then, Reid was ravenous. He nipped at his neck and cheek, sliding his long tongue down the stubble.

“ _Deeper_.”  
  
Even losing track of who was who, there was no forgetting who was where. Reid's smaller body around his larger cock was an ever-welcome reminder. He drove in hard, relentlessly. Claws dug into his back, tearing flesh and adding pain to the blinding mix.

As the wave climbed higher and the pressure grew, Geoffrey reared back and took his Makers cock in hand, marrying the rhythms with short, hard strokes as the feedback bled over and amplified. Jonathan began pleading wordlessly as the waves crashed into each other.  
  
He was still pleading, pleading for more, even as the pain crescendoed and detonated, throwing them together, shuddering, for a last, fearsome embrace, filled with fangs. Geoffrey spent himself in waves, as Reid clung to him with claws and teeth, spilling into the gap between them.  
  
Geoffrey's legs went weak.

Folding his arms carefully around, keeping Jonathan close, he eased back. The bed... the bed was too far away.  
  
They sank down to the floor. As they lay, broken by the wave, Geoffrey lay back, allowing Jonathan to come around on top of him.  
  
The way it was supposed to be, after all.

  
***

  
Later, as they lay smoking together, sticky and satisfied, Jonathan found himself entertaining a suspicion. Geoffrey was so gloriously confident tonight, powerful as a lion and still oozing masculinity. Jonathan quickly closed off his thoughts, but it was too late to hide the emotion.

Geoffrey rolled over instantly when he felt it. He seldom let his real affection show on his face, but for a moment his blue eyes were soft, concerned. “Are you alright, beast?” He asked sincerely. “Did I go too far?”

 _Perhaps,_ Reid thought, careful not to let him hear it. _But not in the way you mean._  
  
“No, my Hunter.” He answered instead, carding the soft brown strands of hair. He pushed aside the mask Geoffrey wore, and indulged a long look into the bloody but blue catlike eyes he loved so deeply. For the first time in a long time, he lied. “It was an unrelated thought.”

He would not bring this up to Geoffrey when the suspicion was still so... unfounded. Too many arguments lay that way, too many complex demands. If he was right, he would have to act decisively.  
  
He would need to get his answer from Sean.


	4. To seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking in the dark, looking for answers, finding other questions.

Sunrise.  
  
A long blink, without dreams.  
  
Sunset.  
  
***

“Not tonight, Hunter.”

It was about damn time Reid won again. Sometimes, it occurred to Geoffrey that all this brawling was only priming Reid to fight back when the day finally came for his Progeny to end him. Mostly, Geoffrey accepted that was what he wanted. He'd still beat the bastard if it came to that. Better Reid knew it, and had one more reason to behave.

In victory, Reid was... well … Reid. Still, he obviously had something on his mind and wasn't feeling chatty. That was always worrying.

When he tried to ask if last night had been a mistake, Reid had silenced him with a fang-filled kiss and a warning growl, “If you keep asking me that, Geoffrey, I will never let you do it again.”

That was a price he was **not** willing to pay. He let it slide. If Reid did have some issue with it, he'd make it known soon enough, in his own way.

When he asked for a few blood samples, in a manner that did not make refusal an option, Geoffrey put his foot down. He didn't mind it; Reid asked for them often enough. But not when he was clamming up like this.

“What are you working on, leech? You'd best not be pulling a Swansea.”  
  
Reid's eyebrows arched. Shocked into courtesy, he growled, “Excuse me?”  
  
“You know exactly what I mean.” Geoffrey crossed his arms, “What are you up to?”

Voice low, warning, Reid said, “It's for Sean.”

“Oh.” McCullum deflated a little, feeling like an arse. “Alright then.”  
  
Leaving his Maker to his slides and silence, Geoffrey kitted up and headed out. He'd give Reid his space for now, and challenge him on it once he'd had time to simmer down.

You never knew; there were always a few Ekon trying to creep back into London. He might get lucky tonight.  
  
****

******

Sean thanked the Lord for the long nights. As the daylight faded, he felt truly blessed to be able to walk Miss Mooney and baby Margaret back to their little house.

James Cummings, Margaret's father, was waiting for them. He had cleaned himself up, though his suit was rumpled. He almost wept when Margaret was at last passed to him to hold. Sean knew the man would be at war with The Drink forever on, but so long as there was love like this, the Lord would give him strength to endure.  
  
As he returned to the shelter an hour later, the unearthly sense of Doctor Reid's presence grew. Sean knew the path home and his heart was already light but that ethereal presence lit the way like a lighthouse in clear weather.  
  
He found the doctor out in the yard, speaking with Mrs Whitley. Sean felt a brief fear, then reproached himself; it was uncharitable, and Doctor Reid had done nothing to deserve it. Indeed, a moment later, he saw the doctor pass a small vial to her, closing his hand over hers as he gave her instructions for the medicine.  
  
Strange that such a tall man could sometimes make you feel as tall as him and at other times as tiny as a mouse. Mrs Whitley straightened up, and professed her gratitude, shaking his hand gladly.  
  
“Sean.” The Doctor said, warmly, as he finally noticed him. “May we speak?”  
  
“Of course, doctor.”

“It is a private matter.” The Doctor's voice seemed to resonate in Sean's stomach, like a hunger passing through the air between them. He did not sound so distant... not so cold... as he had. Sean was glad for that.

“Please, come to the back then.” Sean answered, with genuine cheer.  
  
As he lead the way, the Doctor did not fall behind as was his want. This time, he followed closely behind him. It made the action of leading him to private quarters seem suddenly intimate. It again made his skin feel thin, prickling with the desire to be held and more. It was an unfaithful and sinful want, unkind to Mr McCullum especially. He would turn it out, if he could.

So when they were alone and Doctor Reid reached out and cupped Sean's chin in his hand, Sean was stunned.

For a moment, he did not know if it were real.

Then he could not breathe. Fear flashed through him; the fear that the last few months had been a dream, and now he was waking to the nightmare. That the doctor would force him kneel again and then tear him away from his fold, away from God and into slavery. He wanted to jerk away but could not move.

“Sean,” The doctor's calm voice was barely audible over the hammering of Sean's heart. “I need to know. Has Geoffrey given you his blood?”

In relief, he answered gladly. “Yes. The hunger had returned. I..” He stalled as the warmth in the doctor's eyes drained away, replaced by something unnamable. “I thought it best to ask, before....”

The doctor released his chin and turned away towards the table. “Then I need to take another sample from you.”

“You took my blood only yesterday, doctor.”  
  
His sudden departure left Sean's skin cold. He had to scrub his fingers into his beard to dislodge the ghostly sensation.  
  
“I need another now.” The doctor said coldly. “ _Sit, here._ ”

Sean obeyed, only realising afterwards that it had **not** been a voluntary choice. Fear choked him again. It was recorded in the book of Matthew; _None can serve two masters._

“Your arm, please.”  
  
Sean could not move.

“Put your arm on the table, Sean.”  
  
Trembling, he did as he was bid and waited as the Doctor prepared his needle, saying nothing. As always, he lifted it with a detached, professional air. As always, the moment his fingers touched Sean's skin, it was like lightening.

He knew... things about the doctor in these moments. Yesterday, he had sworn not to come again, except to take blood and Sean had wept for it. Tonight, he had returned despite that, but in a great deal of pain. The cause wasn't clear, but Sean could devise it readily enough upon the doctor's words.

The soft bee-sting of the needle was almost welcome, as it grounded him in the world, not in the doctor's heart. He suspected that the man did not mean to show him these thoughts. He tried not to listen, but could not shut it out. He could only swear to reveal none of it to any but God. It was a sacred confession, like any other.

When the doctor at last withdrew the needle, and began to pack his instruments away, Sean found the courage to speak.  
  
“Doctor Reid, I am sorry if I have overstepped some boundary I was not aware of. Sincerely, I would do nothing to burden the two of you.”

Dr Reid paused then, and tilted his head, regarding Sean strangely.

Sean added, “I have nothing but love for both of you, Dr Reid. And...” He stumbled, dragging the words out from his fearful breast. “You ought not reproach yourself for my inhibitions during my fever. I ought to have said so sooner. As the Lord is my shepherd, I do not reproach you any longer.”

The doctor looked away then, and closed his velvet case, slipping it into his pocket to vanish amid the folds of the long coat.

His voice, when he spoke, was rough and low, rougher than Sean had ever heard from the doctor. Yet, despite that, there was an unusual warmth in his tone. 

“No, Sean. You would not have known.”

Then the doctor placed his hand upon the top of Sean's head, and Sean could say no more.   
  
I was not the tender touch Sean had yearned for; he could feel nails like claws at the edges of it. Yet its honesty was undeniable.   
  
He knew things once more. He knew that he was loved, like a lesser spark of the divine light pouring into his soul. He knew then that if any should harm him, no man could anticipate the terrible fate that would befall them... and the doctor would be the agent of that destruction.  
  
There was a word that came with it, and the word felt immaculate, though Sean knew it was far from it.

The word was ' _mine_ '.

It made him shiver with horror, even as the doctor said, “It's not _your_ fault. He should have known better.”

Then the doctor took his hand away, and rose to leave. Sean could not turn to watch him go. He was too overwhelmed, too frightened to move even that much. Yet the heat lingered on the broken skin of his scalp and fear was not all he felt.

Pausing in the doorway, the doctor said. “I will return soon.”

Suddenly, he was gone. Sean remained where he was, until that unearthly sense had passed into the distance. Then he rose, trembling. He had need of the Lord's guidance.

***

It took less than an hour for Jonathan to draw his conclusions. The slides all confirmed the same hypothesis. The evidence was plain, and he knew what he had to do.


	5. To listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Nowhere to run and nothing to lose / Damned if we don't and damned if we do' 
> 
> A slave to lust, prey to the everlasting thirst... Dr Reid addresses his Progeny's misstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Just a few tweaks to the flow, and pacing of the 'conversation'

Geoffrey padded away from Priwen in a foul mood. They hadn't found anything yet. They would have done, he was bloody certain, if his 'cover' didn't prevent him from being there.

Abruptly, he felt it. Reid's anger, rolling over him like a wave. It hit right in the middle of leaving, only yards outside the door. It was hard not to wince, but he didn't. Anyone who might be looking at him now would be a member of the Guard. He needed his mask up.  
  
Reid was viciously angry, with him.

Soon enough, McCullum could feel his eyes on him as he walked, but the beast stayed out of sight. He was keeping his thoughts close, giving Geoffrey nothing but the sense that he was picking through a problem.  
  
Another bad sign.  
  
This kind of crap was happening more and more. McCullum didn't want to acknowledge it, not yet, but he couldn't deny it any more. Reid was getting worse. He was _slipping_. Less man, more monster; less person, more predator. Sometimes, it got worse from one night to the next.

Geoffrey had gotten the Sad Saint involved to check that slide, but it wasn't working _._

Hard to recall, sometimes, that Reid had been a leech for only a couple of weeks when they'd first met. Easy to forget he hadn't even made it through his first _year_ yet. Most of the newborns who broke did so in the first year. At least, that's how it seemed in the interrogation room and Wilson – brotherhood spy that he was – said they'd had the same impression.

Old blood, sure. But Reid was a young leech. They both were.

All the way back to the new house, he knew Reid was pacing him, _hunting_ him. He was in no fucking mood for it. When he finally decided enough was enough, he turned down a dark alleyway, and went after him. But Reid only went to ground. Leech was learning.

Reid started pacing him again as soon as he dropped back down to the streets.

His blood was up, and he was ready to fight by the time he got into the house. Reid might know some of his tricks, but he knew his too and set about immediately checking the windows. In passing, he pocketed the amulet. You never knew.  
  
Of course, the bedroom windows were wide open. McCullum stalked over, closing them and the shutters with a scowl. If the prick wanted to play this game, he'd have to come in through the front door.  
  
A jolt. Cold fingers on the back of his neck, talons grazing the skin.

God damn, Reid was fucking **silent.  
  
** “ _Why,_ Geoffrey?” His Maker growled.  
  
No humanity in that voice. Reid wasn't letting him move.

At least he let him speak. “Why what, leech?”  
  
The talons turned and hooked, spilling cold rivulets of blood down the back of his neck. “Is that how you're going to play this, Hunter?”  
  
“I'm not playing, Reid.” He fought to keep his level. This was a bad one. He could feel his Maker rummaging through his head, none too gently. He had meant to stay calm, to try to talk Reid down off whatever ledge he was up on, but that was easier said than done. “Care to tell me which game this is?”

“You really don't know, do you?” Reid sounded perplexed, though the talons only tightened.  
  
“No. I have no idea what's got you so pissy, beast, so tell me.”

The talons slid back, out of his flesh, away from the bones they had felt all-too-close to gouging out.

“ _Stay put_ , Geoffrey. We need to talk.”  
  
It had been a Command and the amulet was still in his pocket. With a growl, he said meaningfully. “Men talk facing each other, _Maker.”_

“We're not just men, Geoffrey.” Reid growled, his voice a touch more human but still dangerously cold. “That's part of the problem.”

“What problem?”

“Sean.” The vampire hissed, sliding cold tendrils into his mind again.

“Get out of my head, Reid.”  
  
“No.” The word was not spoken seductively, but Reid's hands were by his throat, tugging his scarf away. “You gave him your blood.”  
  
McCullum let the scarf go without trying to fight. Whatever edge Reid was up on, that was where his attention needed to be. “He needed it, Reid. And you were too bloody wrapped up to realise it. He asked, I helped. That's all.”  
  
That brought Reid up, it seemed. He was still holding McCullum in place, still forcing him to face the window, but all the anger dropped out of his voice.  
  
“That's _not_ all, Geoffrey.” He said, more like a doctor examining a specimen, “Are you really that deaf to your own instincts?”  
  
“Lay off, Reid.” Despite himself, McCullum felt a dirty little laugh rising. Maybe it was just because he wanted to _believe_ it so badly, but this didn't sound like Jonathan losing his grip. This sounded like Jonathan... like he was trying to justify something all too human to himself. “There's nothing between us, you insecure old maid.”

Reid sounded almost curious now. “You truly have no idea what you're doing?”

“I **know** I'm not 'doing' anything, you daft bastard.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”  
  
“Fine.” Reid hissed and the anger was back, colder now. “Shall we raise the volume then? Try to listen this time, Geoffrey.”  
  
Claws sliced across his throat, quick and razor sharp. McCullum tried to swear, but the cut was too deep. All that came was a high wheeze. His hands twitched up out of instinct, and Reid let them as blood curtained out, ruining his shirt.

The cut closed quickly enough, but Geoffrey was left ravenous. Absurdly, what little blood he had left shot down to his groin, warming and hardening into the crimson flow. Well... He and Reid had ruined each other for human sexuality, apparently.

For just a moment, he caught Reid's gratified amusement at that, and his Maker's control slipped.

“The fuck, Reid?” He whirled, taking the advantage offered.

Jonathan didn't give him an instant longer. Talons pieced his throat from either side, lifting.  
  
“No, Geoffrey.” Jonathan snarled. “Don't talk. For once in your life, stop fighting and _listen_.”

 _Fuck that_. Geoffrey lashed out with a foot, arching back and throwing his weight in the other direction. Reid's claws were dragged out. It flayed his throat open but that didn't matter. He could heal.

Focusing, hard, to that deep cthonic place, McCullum dragged the shadows up. Tendrils latched onto Jonathan's limbs and as he fought them off, McCullum dug deep into his pocket and slipped the amulet around his neck.

Reid reeled from the effort. It would be a while before he could throw the same back at him.

“Geoffrey.” Reid snarled, and it was all monster now. “Take that off. You _need_ to listen.”  
  
“Then fucking talk, leech.” He growled back, dropping into a fighting stance, letting his own claws sing out from his fingertips. His sword was out of reach, but he was far from unarmed.

“Not to me, Geoffrey.” Reid straightened up, adopting that lithe leaned-back stance that was pure predator. “Listen to your blood. Listen to your hunger. Whatever you wish to call it, listen to _yourself_. You didn't listen with Charlotte and you're not listening now.”  
  
“You're babbling, beast.”  
  
Reid exhaled; a small, almost imperceptible sound of exasperation, and closed his fist.

 _Fuck_.

The amulet might protect his mind, but his blood was a different matter. His muscles seized, arching his head back, throwing him into defenceless agony. Fucking old blooded bastard.  
  
“You've been trying to 'take' him for months.” Reid's voice was dangerously soft as he drew closer, “Little things you've done. Little challenges. Fighting for control. But I enjoyed that. I didn't realise what it was.”

“Now it's in your blood. It's in his. It's not a game any more.” He was close now, almost whispering in his ear as he removed the amulet and tossed it away over his shoulder. “Even if you don't realise it, you're trying to challenge me. You're trying to take what you know is mine and all that implies.”

Geoffrey was ready to start shouting, soon as he could. But Reid cupped his hands under his shoulder blades, kissed his neck and bit down. The pain released Reid's hold on his blood, but not the Command he had over his mind. There was nothing he could do, as Reid drank deep and showed no sign of stopping.  
  
Geoffrey wanted to scream at him. He was fucking ravenous. Reid's mind was closed, giving him no hint at what was going on inside it. It struck him suddenly that this was exactly what Reid would be like, all the time, if he had truly, finally lost it. All take, no give. All monster, no man.

Suddenly, Reid stopped. Sounding amused, he moved his head back and crooned. “Is that what you think I'm up to, Hunter? You think I'm out of control?”

Geoffrey growled, panting with the hunger. “I think you're out of your fucking mind.”  
  
“You gave Sean your blood, Geoffrey.” Reid repeated, slowly. “You are my Progeny. You cannot _do_ that.”

“Show me where that's written down.” Geoffrey snarled, trying to pull free enough to hit the bastard. “You weren't seeing to him. He needed it. What else was I going to do?”  
  
Reid moved back at last, “It's not _**written**_ , Geoffrey. You are my progeny. You can't challenge me on that level and remain anywhere **near** me. Do you even hear what you're saying?”

“Sure. I sound like I still have a fucking shred of empathy, Reid. I wasn't going to let him suffer. He's a good man.”  
  
Reid's fingers knotted in his hair, yanking his head back. “He is not just a man, Geoffrey. He's a Skal. But fine, since you're so obstinate, let's do this _your_ way.” Reid cupped his hand against the front of Geoffrey's trousers, squeezing meaningfully around the tent, catching his cock with the very edges of his claws. “Let's try a hunger you can recognise.”  
  
Reid ripped the fabric away and threw McCullum down. He sacrificed his control to do it. He'd regret that.

McCullum went for the amulet.  
  
Reid pounced on him, driving him down into the floor. Cocky for a moment, the leech shucked off his own layers, giving McCullum a chance to recover. He rolled, kicking up, and lunged again for where he could see it glittering under a chair.

Reid grabbed his legs and dragged him back.

 _Fine._ McCullum thought and went on the offensive, twisting and shoving up hard into Reid's chin. As the bastard reeled, he caught him under the shoulder and swung him around, driving him down hard into the floor. Reid was face-down and it felt fucking good to pin the leech in a hold. With his fucking trousers wrecked, his cock laid heavily over Reid's covered arse.  
  
He growled, as he felt Reid rummaging around in his head. “Get out.”

“That's more like it, Hunter. Listen to that.”  
  
“The FUCK are you talking about?” McCullum snarled, half-insensible with the hunger. “Is _that_ was this is about? Acting out cause I buggered you for a change?”

Reid laughed; a thick, vindictive sound. “No, Geoffrey. I enjoyed it. But it was part of this. You were challenging me and I didn't realise it. Now I do.”

The laugh slid down into a growl, and Reid wiggled his arse, just a little. Enough to spark vivid thoughts about putting Reid in his _goddamn place_ for a change.

“Yes. That's what I mean.” Reid hissed, as he jerked up into the hold.

McCullum twisted, but Reid didn't play fair. He felt his left arm go weak and Reid drove him back against the wall, entangling his fingers around his cock, kneading gently, hitting all the right spots. They were both snarling, red-eyed, nose-to-nose. But it felt good enough to let it carry on, just for now.

“Listen to me now, Geoffrey.”

  
**  
  
Jonathan forced his voice into a seductive cadence. The blood-work had _shown_ him what was going on; what the inevitable outcome would be. Seeing it and _feeling_ it turned out to be as comparable as studying a volcano was to standing on the crater's edge.  
  
McCullum was not a man to yield when his beliefs were challenged, and Jonathan feared he might not be up to the challenge of overcoming the roar of his blood to help him understand. But he had to _try_.  
  
The alternative was intolerable.

“You are not my equal in this, Geoffrey.” He growled, “You are my Progeny. Blood **matters.”**

He felt the Hunter surge against that. Of course, he was more than equal to his Maker, as a _**man**_ **.** But he still wasn't listening.

Pinning him to the wall with his body, he jerked the Hunter's wrists together above his head and drove his knee between his legs.  
  
“You have made a mistake.” He brought his lips within inches of McCullum's own as he all-but bit out the words. “Your blood is **screaming** at me, Geoffrey. I hear it, even if you don't. You haveto yield.”  
  
This wasn't the right approach, but with Geoffrey's open defiance, with his open challenge, it was all he could muster. Holding the Hunter in place with one hand and his vice-like Control, he brought his other hand down. He thumbed his own fly open and brought their meat together in his hand. For just a moment, he felt Geoffrey _give_ a little, embracing the submissive role as he rolled against the caress.

“I don't want to break you, Geoffrey.” He murmured. “I like you just as you are.”

But Geoffrey was still leaning hard against the Maker-Progeny bond. As he rallied to push back, Jonathan felt his own blood surge against it. Savage urges tore through his logical thoughts. If Geoffrey did not yield, it said, then the solution very simple. Geoffrey did not know how much stronger he really was, how _easy_ it would be to rip him in _half.  
  
Never_ since Mary had Jonathan felt at war with his vampiric instincts. He had embraced the hunger, the violence, the _monster._ Until now...   
  
As Geoffrey's muscles tensed, Jonathan felt his own hand tighten as the urge to violence bubbled like rising magma.  
  
“No, Geoffrey.” He growled, hearing his own voice tear deep into his chest. “Let it go. If you don't, I will be **compelled** to respond and **I will destroy you.** ” **  
  
**  
  
** The hand on his cock twisted, stopped stroking and only squeezed, hard enough to be right on the edge between pain and pleasure.

Reid's voice dropped so low that he _felt_ more than _heard it._ “Let it go. If you don't, I will be **compelled** to respond and **I will destroy you.** ”

“Fucking try, leech.” Geoffrey snarled, meaning to punch out of the hold. His muscles didn't respond.

Reid's nostrils flared and he went still. Very still. As if he hadn't quite expected McCullum to call his bluff. Fucking leech. 

“ _ **Geoffrey**_ _.”_ A warning. Dangerously inhuman. “Don't. Not right now." Almost desperately, as if the bastard was still fighting for control despite having McCullum at his fucking mercy. "This isn't human. I don't ... want to break you.”  
  
McCullum wasn't in the mood to listen. He snarled back, letting his own monster speak, rumbling in his chest. “ _Get the fuck off me."_  
  
Reid's expression contorted into pure animal savagery. He was roaring as he threw McCullum down. Rolling, snarling, Geoffrey tried to lunge for the amulet but he was already pinned in place. Then Reid was on him bodily, rolling him over to face him, fangs bared.  
  
“ _Rise for me, Hunter._ ” He growled, and McCullum felt his cock stiffen, blood rushing agonisingly into his already swollen erection. “ _And do not come until I say so.”_

McCullum only snarled. He had _known_ this was just a fucking power-play.

Fangs in his throat; Reid drawing hard and taking him from ravenous to _starving_ in one long draw. He didn't kiss him as he withdrew. Geoffrey didn't care. Hard to think through the hunger.  
  
Reid slipped down and lapped at the head of his cock. It was so close to pain that McCullum gasped instead of moaning. The trail of blood left from Reid's tongue cooled agonisingly in the air.  
  
 _“See to it, Hunter_.”

McCullum didn't hear the words. All he cared about was that Reid didn't try to stop his hands descending to take himself in hand. But he was too hard. It hurt too fucking much for his rough and calloused hands to take care of. He was fucking purple with need.  
  
“I have this kind of control over you, Geoffrey, if I choose to use it.”

Reid was still keeping his own thoughts back from his progeny, giving him nothing to latch onto. All he could hear was the wet sounds as Reid slicked himself up. At the touch of Reid's cock against his balls, he tilted his hips up to meet him. He was so fucking hard, he couldn't help it. He needed something, anything. It was a relief to feel the rigidity of his Maker's cock sliding under his balls, and god – he needed some of that for himself too.

Reid heard him, and obliged, running a slippery hand up his cock, then leaving him to it. For far too long, the bastard just stayed there, kneeling back with the tip against his hole and watching, listening, towering over him as his movements became frantic.

“ _Beg me.”_  
  
Geoffrey realised he was moaning, pleading wordlessly for Reid to take him, to _use_ him.

Reid finally gave in, and pressed into him, rocking him lightly until his body finally got the fucking message and welcomed him in. God, Reid was still keeping his thoughts back. It had been so fucking long since he'd been alone in his body.

“I...” Reid managed to hiss. “Do not want to break you. I don't. I could, like this. It would be so **easy**.”

 _Shut up,_ McCullum was thinking. _Fucking shut up and fuck me._

“Sean.” Reid said again, and Geoffrey heard himself moan. Bastard didn't seem satisfied by that, but at least he finally started to move, started to fuck him in earnest, dragging McCullum down, fucking him deep and so fucking _hard._

God, but he knew how to make his nerves dance.

Reid began to pick up the pace, leaning forward to plant his hands beside his shoulders. Faster and deeper. An endless, glorious ache, a pounding pressure, peppered with debilitating sparks.

Geoffrey dropped his arms back, getting the leverage to hitch his ass up. He could hear himself begging for Reid to fuck him deeper, fuck him harder, destroy anything he fucking liked, so long as he took the time to destroy his arse first.

He meant every fucking word.

God, he wanted to come so badly, but the orgasm kept slipping out of his grasp. He couldn't even stand his own hands any more. He was too sensitive, too raw, too hard. He was at the pinnacle, pain peaking into agony. Reid was still keeping his thoughts close, leaving him blind, starving.

Through gritted teeth, Reid managed to growl. “Sean.”

Lost to the lust, burning up with it, Geoffrey roared. The thought was nothing so complete as words. Just fragments, coming together.

An image of Sean. Compelling and visceral. Kneeling beside them and watching, those beautiful eyes wide to drink it all in. Ginger hair askew around his face, biting his lip, taking McCullum's cock between his hands, holding him as Reid ground him back and forth. _  
  
_The thought came seething up from wherever he'd been trying to bury it, making his claim known.

… _mine._

Suddenly, the silence burst apart and McCullum slammed back into his own mind as everything Reid felt crashed into him. A rage more vicious than anything that had come before. Alongside it poured his love, lust and the glorious friction of Geoffrey's body enfolding him, blasting away his self-control.

The voice of his Maker, answering his challenge; _MINE._

Reid hauled him up and slung him roughly onto the bed, forcing his face down with a clawed hand as he took him again, no longer caring for whether he felt pleasure or pain.

His Maker was roaring, outside and in. Suddenly, Geoffrey understood. No. Not his. The Skal belonged to his Maker. He understood, and he submitted desperately.  
  
 _Come for me, Hunter._  
  
Not his. Reid's. He understood, his mind babbling in acquiescence even as the power of Reid's pleasure detonated in his balls and thundered up, spilling over the sheets, driving him senseless.

***

Slowly, Reid released him, physically and mentally. Before he drew away, he slit his own wrist with a fang and let Geoffrey drink until the clamouring hunger quietened down.

As the blood spread and soothed his shrivelled veins, Geoffrey came back up. Back into himself, back into something like humanity. Back into the pinched veneer of the vampire, the delicate lie over the ocean beneath.

Reid was on the other side of the room, draped decadently over the chair as he smoked.

Geoffrey stayed on the bed. He did not get up. He only lay there, replaying the last few minutes in his mind, then the last few months.

There was no point denying it, no point pretending Reid had entrapped and manipulated him into thinking it. He had _felt_ it. He had 'listened for once'.  
  
Fuck. How long had this been going on? Fantasizing about the little Saint, letting himself forget _what_ they both were. Sure, he knew he had it bad. But he'd thought it was only a schoolboy crush; private and comfortable, safe in the knowledge it would never go anywhere for _so many_ reasons.

But nothing about it was fucking 'safe'.

Had it started when Sean had touched his chest, or before that? Way before that, when he had pretty much _**told**_ Sean to be a stabiliser for Reid, just so that he could jog off to Europe...Had he ever even asked Sean if it was alright that he visited so often?  
  
It would have been nothing, nothing at all if he'd been human. But he wasn't. Neither was Sean.

Fuck, he hated it when Reid was right.

Then again...

A rebellious little thought perked up, and the urge to say ' _I told you so'_ was on the tip of his tongue. But Reid growled, threateningly, and he bit it back. It had been a long time since he had seen him as bestial as this. Any challenge at all could trigger a much less enjoyable correction; something neither of them wanted.

Geoffrey had fucked up.

Badly.

As if hearing it, Reid rose from the chair, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray. He dressed quickly, pausing to check his face in the mirror.

Before he left, he came to the bed and sat at the edge, resting his hand on Geoffrey's shoulder. An apology of sorts, or at least it felt like one.  
  
Speaking aloud, Jonathan told him, “ _You will not enter the shelter or its grounds tonight_.”  
  
Against all caution, Geoffrey sat up at that. “What are you going to do, beast?”  
  
“I'm going to put an end to this. I'm going to see Sean,” Jonathan said clearly, “And recognise him as my Progeny.”

There was blood and fury at the edges of Reid's thoughts. His excitement was palpable through the contact with his skin. Hunger and longing; the monster at play. There was no way Geoffrey could stop him. He could only try to dissuade him.

“Leave him be, Reid. You'll destroy that man like this.”

But Jonathan didn't answer, he only belt down and kissed him, lovingly, behind the ear. The hand of his control came down, and remained strong on Geoffrey's body, preventing him from rising until after Reid had gone.


	6. To give

**  
** The moon was full, the sky was clear, and Jonathan's shadow stretched out ahead of him, towards the shelter.  
  
_Fitting_. He thought, with a vicious smile.  
  
This time, the gates had no power to restrain him. This was his territory. He advanced as silently as shadows, as inevitably as death, savouring his mastery over this night.

Yet when the Hampton Asylum came into view around the corner, with the tents scattered around it like bones against the black concrete, he slowed his pace. Was this truly what he wished? He could already sense the thrumming hearts inside, old and young alike. Lottie, whose sister had been so much less _substantial_ than she would be.

There was only one man who could have intervened, and he had broken him to his will tonight.

His blood sung with the need for slaughter, the desire to release cold logic and give in to the heady rush, appease the seductive hunger, drown himself in desire and blood. To call Sean to him and set him free as he had Geoffrey, to unleash him to at last to be what he really was.

'Expel your urges', Sean had told him, but he had been so very wrong. Even Sean could not expel what he was. The Saint was still a Sinner, barely suppressed, appeased and contented only by blood, just as he was.

Yet the Shelter was a beacon of warm, yellow light in the cold, pale moonlight. Enough to make him pause. Enough to remember...

Out along the song of blood, Jonathan picked up the melody he had refused to hear before now, and strummed it. Delicately, at first, sensing Sean's surprise at the contact, then reaching deeper.

 _Come to me, my Skal._ Then, more seductively, _Come to me, my progeny._

The rush of feedback was not the surprise it once might have been, before he had examined Sean's blood with the idea in mind. Fear, alarm and yes, desire.

He had always held himself back around Sean, never acknowledged the blood between them. Now, he understood.

Sean had not fully been a Skal, not yet, when Jonathan had found him. The transformation was well underway. Very soon, Sean would have been as frenzied a creature as any victim of the epidemic.

Jonathan had interrupted it, with blood as powerful as could be found amongst human-like Ekon; perhaps the _only_ blood powerful enough. Jonathan was a closer heir to the Red Queen's power than Harriet, or even Elisabeth. He had only thought that Sean required vampire blood. That frightened doctor had not understood what power he possessed.

***  
  
' _Come to me, my Skal'_

Sean sat up, engulfed by it. The air seemed to shiver, his own heart seemed to flutter, striving to match its pace to another.

 _God protect me._ He thought, closing his hand around his cross, feeling it grow strangely warm under his hand.

_'Come to me, my progeny.”_

Sean recognised it. It was the same voice that had spoken from the shadows to McCullum, only a few months past. It sounded like Doctor Reid's voice, but made only from echoes, built out of memories. Sean had seen him and heard him then, but not understood. He had been afraid. Now, the Doctor seemed to be all around him, calling him, and there was no more space for fear in his breast.

He rose from the table, apologising. He was needed. Doctor Reid needed him.  
  
The Doctor was very close, he knew. He did not take a coat with him. He would not need it.

The night had chilled to an unearthly cold. Icicles glistened on the tents, but Sean did not feel its bite as he opened the door. He felt only love, love that poured through him and enslaved him, and drew him out into the night.  
  
In the back of his mind, he knew it was sinful. The Lord's love was charitable and giving. This love was all-consuming, covetous, and yet it was for him. The Doctor needed him now. He needed him to come and to give his love, to give all he could.  
  
***  
  
Sean stumbled out into the court yard, warm breath fogging in the air. It pained Jonathan to see how he held himself so small, so convinced of his own fragility. Jonathan would help him understand the strength he had given him.  
  
Sean was night-blind at first, coming out so quickly from the light. His eyes were not as sharp as his Maker's, but Jonathan waited, waited until Sean blinked and saw him at last.

The little Skal drew a breath of chill air as he stood in the long shadow Jonathan cast. How much did he sense of Jonathan's intentions? Perhaps not much, perhaps all of it. Either way, the Saint came forward with little catlike steps.

Sean's hand did not rest on his cross. He did not bite his lip.  
  
“Sean.” He growled, stooping a little, seeing the Skal shiver at the sound.  
  
“Doctor Reid.” He answered, breathlessly. Fear trembled up from him like a heat-haze, seeing his Maker as he was beneath the mask.  
  
Yet, he looked up with wide and loving eyes. The irises were constellations of gold and silver flecks, scattered in a pale corona around the dark pupils. Jonathan looked into them, seeing the red gleam of his own reflected back upon him.

He blinked.

Sean opened his arms and wrapped them around his Maker's neck, squeezing him tight, resting his jaw alongside his cheek. Jonathan rested his nose against the broken skin of his progeny's neck and drew a long breath. He'd been a fool not to acknowledge Sean before now. The electric current was shuddering between them, sparking with memories, all but singeing him with Sean's emotions.

“Please.” Sean said, his voice cracking, “Don't.”

****  
  
Sean knew he was shaking, but the feeling was very far away from where he was. All he could see was blood. He could taste it. He could see faces, remember names. So much death and more was to come.

“Please.” He said again, holding Doctor Reid close.

It was like embracing a statue. The muscles did not yield. They gave no sign that Sean could ever press pass that stony facade and reach the man. But he kept it up. He had to. This infernal tide had nought to do with God, or Heaven. It was too wide, too deep for the Lord to reach through.

Only his servant could try.

 _But this is what I am._ The doctor's voice rang in his head with dark humour. _This is what I do.  
  
_“No.” His own voice was weak, choked with tears.  
  
God help him, but Sean himself was seduced by it. The rage inside him rose, eager to escape ; a rage born of hatred for the men and women who gave themselves over to evil with far less cause, far less reason and far less protest than the doctor... or himself.

 _We could find that man, if he yet lives_. The doctor suggested. _We can punish him for what he did to you._

Lord protect him but, for just a moment, Sean liked the sound of that. _  
  
_A more visceral image came before him. Giselle's face, when the doctor had finally lost patience with her. Her final thoughts had rung with a sick satisfaction. At the last, all the love and patience the Saint had shown her, she had dismissed off-hand and believed herself hated. In the end, her self-loathing was only a kind of self-indulgence. Doctor Reid had killed her. He would kill others like her, for eternity to come.

“No.” He heard himself say again. It didn't matter what had come before. Christ had given his blood so that sins could be forgiven. That was the whole point.

Because there truly was love in this storm of blood. The doctor felt contempt for those who used and exploited The Saint, the same kind of people who had used and exploited the doctor too. Those who took for granted the gift they had been entrusted with; the progeny he had chosen to remain among them.

Still, he did not hate them. He only hungered, and he hungered deeply to grant Sean satisfaction for their sins. For the sake of his pride in his progeny, who had attended to their needs and received nothing in return.

“I receive love.” Sean tried to push back against the torrent. “I receive hope.”  
  
He remembered the first time he had seen Doctor Reid. The same night, he now knew, that the doctor had become a vampire. He remembered the first moment, shortly after, when he had felt the pang of worldly love he knew could never be realised. Sean had always been an invert; a so-called unnatural. He knew how to suppress his urges.

But he had gazed at the Doctor all that long trip back to the hospital; a kind man whose first instinct was to save Sean, and raise him up out of that awful place. It had begun then, long before the blood. That was why he had trusted him with Old Bridget. That was why he had known he was a good man.

***  
  
Caught in the current, Jonathan heard it all and it tickled him. Truly, it did. Sean's feelings did not only come from the blood they shared. Jonathan hadn't known that, but it made a few things make sense.  
  
No wonder the Saint's first, fevered response to his blood had been to refuse, to fear that it would be 'extremely awkward'. At that time, the little Skal probably knew more about Skals and vampire blood than he did.

And yet...It made his betrayal of Sean's trust that much more monstrous. He growled, low and answered his progeny, _I am not that frightened man any more._

Sean squeezed him tighter, though he could feel the Skal's muscles starting to tremble with fatigue. “Yes, you are.”

Jonathan was stunned by the force of Sean's conviction. Thoughts and memories skimmed past; how Sean had feared Jonathan's return, facing his arrival with calm only for the sake of his fold. He had expected to be taken from them, subjugated and enslaved. He had felt surprise and shame when the Doctor accepted his refusal.

He had felt such joy and love, hearing Old Bridget speaking of his victory against the Mórrigan, of how relentless the doctor had been in his cause to cure the epidemic. And why? Because he could. Reason enough to shed his blood and risk all.

The Doctor's eyes meeting his in a barren room alongside Geoffrey McCullum, filled with shame at the thought that he might have harmed what was dear to Sean.

“Whosoever lives in love, lives in God.” Sean pleaded. “Forgive them. They know not what they do.”

Beneath the words of scripture, Sean thought the words he could not say. _Please, love me, as I love you._

Jonathan tensed and jerked back, standing straight again, but the Skal did not release his ferocious hold. Unthinking, Jonathan put his arms around Sean, lifting him so that he did not dangle so pitifully from his neck.

“Let go, Sean.” He said, and felt Sean release; a Skal overwhelmed by the desire to obey the Ekon he served. But a moment later, he seized him again, pressing his face into the side of Jonathan's neck, wetting his collar and skin with his tears.  
  
“No.” He pleaded.

Jonathan growled. “I am a monster, Sean.”  
  
“But,” Sean spoke with absolute certainty. “That's not all you are.”

Jonathan snarled, fangs lengthening. He could not allow himself to believe that these were Sean's emotions. They were born in blood. A shackle he had closed around the Skal the moment he had forced him to his knees. His own fault.

Very quietly, muffled by his coat collar, Sean said. “I forgive you, Doctor.”

It was painful, that honesty.

Sean saw him as he truly was, and saw him the same as he always had.  
  
Too much to bear.

“ _Let go, Sean.”_ He growled again, this time weighing the words with command, compelling his progeny to release him and not take hold again, forcing Sean to the ground.

But not to kneel.

Jonathan turned his back, leaving The Saint crouched in his receding shadow. Even now, the little Skal's heart poured out to him; no anger; only gratitude, only love. The shelter glowed, warm and bright, behind him.  
  
As he stalked away, a shadow separated from the wall just outside the gate. It was Geoffrey, armed to the teeth. He did not attack however. He simply waited until Jonathan came past, then fell into step alongside.

The silence survived for a while, while the two of them walked together through the docks. When Jonathan at last paused for a moment's reflection at the reeking edge of the Thames, the Hunter gave in.  
  
Without turning, he whispered. “My, that was intense.”

“Shut up, Geoffrey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Author: I am still very new to writing, but even so... I have NEVER looked forward to posting a chapter this much. It had to wait until I'd gotten the last chapter *ahem* properly sorted, but now... more is coming, very soon. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support! (And please do leave a comment if you have the time - it does so dang much to motivate me, just knowing someone else has found joy in what I write.)


	7. Part II ~ To Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Respite.

**PART TWO**

  
Sunrise.  
  
Sunset.  
  
Geoffrey woke with his head on Reid's chest. No matter what position they went to sleep in, they always woke up this way. It was bloody _odd_. He'd given up trying to work out _when_ it happened.   
  
This evening, he considered his move carefully. Very slowly, he brought his fist up, knocked the knuckles against Reid's ribs, and settled again.

Reid sighed beneath him, “Somehow, your pity hurts much worse than the stakes.”

“That's why it works, leech.”

The 'leech' only grumbled, sullenly, and leaned up to kiss the top of his head.

All the animalistic atmosphere of last night had dissipated, dropping them back inside their own skins. It wasn't disorientating. The blood understood, as Geoffrey was coming to realise.

“How did you work it out?” He asked into Jonathan's chest.

“I took a blood sample from Sean, and compared it with yours and mine. I'd explain my research but,” Reid said resignedly, his chest rising and falling under his cheek. “I know you don't really care for it.”  
  
“Just don't swansea it, and it sounds alright to me.”

“That is still not a verb, Geoffrey.”

“Bloody well should be. When you've worked it out enough to give me the layman's version, I swear I'll give it another try.” He rose and snatched the cigarettes from the night-stand. “So, what's your plan now, beast?”

Reid sighed again. “Honestly, I have no idea, but -” He hesitated, his gorgeously dark eyes becoming unfocused.

“But?” He asked, lighting two and handing one to Reid.  
  
“But I think I don't have to make one. He's nearby.” Caressing Geoffrey's hand in passing, he took his. “So, Skals do rise earlier than we do. Does he know where we live?”  
  
“Not in so many words. I'm not that daft. But close enough that a **really** determined man could probably just knock on doors and find us eventually.”

“We should get dressed then.”

“My thoughts exactly.”  
  
***  
  
The sky was still too painted with sunset for Jonathan to try Visiting Sean, as he did with Geoffrey. Instead, he reached out and tried to simply press the image of their door into Sean's mind.

“Sure you're ready for this?” Geoffrey gave him one last chance.

“It hardly matters.” Jonathan nodded. “I've made my bed.”

He meant it. In all honesty, he was amazed that Sean was seeking them out at all, let alone so soon. His temerity peaked enough curiosity to outweigh any hesitation Jonathan might have. If he recalled, Sean had a talent for that.

But Geoffrey only smirked at his choice of phrase, and opened the door.  
  
Sean looked up from the bottom of the porch steps, and broke into a smile. “Good evening, Mr McCullum.”

“Evening Sean,” Geoffrey said, his accent warm and thicker than usual. “Come on in.”

***  
  


“What's in the bag, Sean?” McCullum asked as Sean hefted it over the threshold and put it down with a heavy thump.

“Potatoes, some bread, dried peas.” He answered, smiling up at the big man. “I thought it better to ask for donations than your names, since I suspect you value your privacy.” He gestured to the bag, “These were generously donated by Miss Cathy Hawkins, three doors away.”

Sean feared he was babbling, happy to say anything that did not require him to turn and face Dr Reid. He had known what he had intended to say, when he had risen early and set out. But now, now the air was alive with the smell of McCullum and Dr Reid both, heady with temptation and the memory of an offer of damnation.

An offer he had _not_ come to accept. But one which had been easy to disregard, until now.

His fingers strayed to his cross, thumbing the worn, warm wood. He wondered if the two vampires knew how cold it was in this house... if they know how dark it was.

Why had he come here? God in heaven, had he the strength for this task?

“Sean.” Dr Reid's voice sent a shiver down his body that had nothing to do with the cold.  
  
“Doctor.” Sean answered, his throat tightening around the word.  
  
He knew the Doctor was sitting on the stairs; a position that allowed Sean to look into his face without craning up.

He knew it because the doctor's eyes were all he could see. They seemed almost to absorb what little light there was and spit it out; a ruddy glow divided by catlike slits of pupils. There was something far more ancient there; older than the man himself.  
  
 _Demon_. He thought involuntarily but, no, that was unkind. He was only inhuman. Sean knew better.

“Sean,” Doctor Reid spoke again, when he saw his hesitation. “May I touch your hand?”

Sean swallowed. McCullum had not closed the door yet. He could still run.

No. God had sworn never to forsake His children. If Sean had drawn the wrong conclusion, He would know that he had done so with good intent. He could only ask God to be patient with him, and guide him back to Him in time.

“Yes.” He said quietly, and knew that he had given in to temptation.

The soft, surgeon's hands embraced his own, and he … knew things about the doctor once more. The doctor felt no malice towards him. Indeed, he was impressed with his courage... _Pleased_ by his courage.

Doctor Reid reached up and flicked the hallway light on.  
  
“Geoffrey,” The doctor said, “Could you start a fire please? Sean is cold.”  
  
McCullum harrumphed, but he sounded more chagrined than angry. “Must have lost my damn mind. We might as well hang a sign outside.”  
  
In the light, the Doctor's eyes seemed human now, his face pale but almost human. Sean had come with the Lord's love as his shield and the words he thought might help this tormented soul. Now, here, so close to comfort, all he knew was his own need for it.

He had needed it for such a long time.

As if hearing him, Doctor Reid wrapped his long arms around him and pulled him close against his body. Sean gasped in surprise, but the arms did not lock, or close to pinch and entrap. They only held him, gently, and Sean knew no one would ever harm him so long as he remained in this embrace.  
  
“I do hear you, Sean.” He said, in a voice that rumbled through Sean's whole body. “Thank you.”

Sean pressed his face into the soft fabric that lay over the impenetrable strength of his Maker, and wept.

  
***  
  
Geoffrey cocked an eyebrow at him, over Sean's head. Jonathan wasn't sure how much Sean would hear, if he tried to answer, so he only nodded.  
  
Jonathan was suddenly acutely aware of how unprepared they were for company. The kitchen and dining room had been stripped. The only drink they had was Geoffrey's sniffing whiskey. Perhaps they needed someone like Sean, more than they had realised.

No, he thought, remembering Old Bridget. They could not _keep_ Sean.

Eventually, strength returned to the little Skal's frame, and Jonathan released him. Sean took a few steps back to accommodate the height difference between them.

“Doctor Reid,” He started, in surer tones, “I wished to assure you that you are still welcome in my asylum, provided that you cease your predations upon my flock. I thought you might be uncertain after last night.”

“Thank you, Sean.” He answered, amused by his ferocity. “Though I hope you won't mind me asking; why?”  
  
“Because you restrained, doctor. Salvation is no more than fighting towards the light, despite the burdens we carry.”

“I will try to remember it, Sean.”  
  
“I must insist, Dr Reid.”  
  
Geoffrey gave bark of laughter from the neighbouring room. Jonathan sent a glare his way.

“You must, Sean?”  
  
“Yes. It does you no good to isolate yourselves.” Pointedly, he went on, “No man is an island. We are the Lord's children, but he has made us brothers and sisters so that we may carry one another's burdens. You do not see enough of other people as they are, I think.”  
  
“You know what I am, Sean. My getting better acquainted with people is generally not … good for them, sooner or later.”  
  
“Those who think they are what they are not deceive themselves. The path to God requires honesty. But each man may test themselves upon their own actions, and take pride in themselves alone.” Very quietly, he added. “Galatians 6.”  
  
His fearsome recitation ended, the Saint softened. “And you are lonely at times, Dr Reid. As am I. I would like to see more of you.”

Jonathan was again amazed despite himself. It was so easy to be lured into thinking of Sean as small, vulnerable but he was as tenacious as any of them.

“Then I will remember it, Sean. That is all I can promise, for now.”  
  
“Then that is all I will ask. Thank you, doctor.”  
  
Unbelievably, Sean turned to go. Despite everything Jonathan knew about him now, he turned to _leave._  
  
“Sean,” He said softly, giving in to temptation. “Would you like to stay for a short while and get warm?”

  
****  
  
They sat Sean down between them in front of the fire. They hadn't planned it, but it worked well. Entwining their fingers on the ground behind Sean's back, he and Geoffrey could converse without Sean overhearing.  
  
Sean was perplexed by the lack of furnishings, and seemed to at last take in the array of weapons, the targets, the bolts all decorating the wall. When he asked, Geoffrey was more than happy to show off a few of his favourites.

By the time he returned to sit with them, Sean had breached some inner wall and slid closer to Jonathan, resting his head lightly against his Maker's shoulder as he listened to the tale, his damaged fingers now resting over Jonathan's hand.  
  
Jonathan could only tilt his chin to Geoffrey in a small shrug, and ask his acceptance with the raise of an eyebrow. Geoffrey nodded with a genuine smile, and began another tale.  
  



	8. To ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beast re-accustoms to human contact. A proposal is made. The Saint is given a choice.

  
Three nights later, Doctor Reid came to the shelter at last. Warned by that unearthly sense, Sean met him at the gate and filled the air with happy chatter.   
  
The doctor smiled warmly and seemed to take genuine interest. It was hard to see the fury of a few nights ago through the comfortable cloak of his bedside manner. From time to time throughout his visit, Sean let himself take the doctor's hand, trusting that contact to draw him past the shield to know what truly dwelt in his thoughts.

If he noticed, if he knew, Dr Reid did not object.   
  
***  
  
When the doctor came again, two nights later, he brought the aura of blood and death with him. It was hard not to dwell upon it.   
  
Sean had begun to notice how often the doctor's conversations with others turned into investigations. Brushing his gnarled hands past the doctor's lean fingers, Sean came to understand. As McCullum had said, the doctor did not do well in idleness. He was _always_ hunting; hunting for insight, for a problem to solve, for a purpose _._

Often, the doctor would vanish for a time, only to return with this item or that bit of information, gratefully received by the person he had been speaking to. It warmed Sean's heart to see the joy he spread in his wake.

Only when there was nothing else, Sean saw that another kind of hunt began. After all that might be done had been done, that warm bedside manner was revealed as a lure. 'Trust me', it said, 'I don't bite'.   
  
Sean came to recognise it.  
  
And he fretted after the wolf he had brought amongst his flock.   
  
***  
  
Three nights on, and both of them came to the Asylum together. It was the middle of the night, and the shelter was quiet save for the whispering breaths of the sleepers.   
  
“Sean,” Dr Reid approached him while Mr McCullum – _Geoffrey,_ Sean reminded himself as that man had asked him to drop the formality – hung back. “May we have a private word?”  
  
“Of course, my friends. If you could help me by hanging these,” He gestured to a sodden vat of linens. “We could speak that much sooner.”  
  
Doctor Reid fished one out but only frowned, looking at it. When Geoffrey approached to assist with more vigour, the doctor stopped him.

“Sean, where have these come from?” Doctor Reid asked.

“Mr Green. He had a nasty turn in the night.”   
  
Nodding, the doctor dropped the linen back into the bucket, and went upstairs. Geoffrey held his palm up, asking for forbearance, until the Doctor returned with his hands full of oddments. These he sprinkled into the vat, then took the copper rod and stirred it, vigorously.   
  
“Let that steep for an hour, Sean, then hang them. I'd recommend replacing them entirely but I know you don't have enough to spare.”  
  
Sean thanked him and they went again to the back room; the scene of so many strange moments with these men.

Even so, every past instance had been with one Ekon, or the other. The presence of both lead him to strange, unbidden thoughts, unsettlingly more in the character of _Lead me not into temptation_ than _Deliver me from evil._

Doctor Reid went to the table, drawing out the velvet case once more.

“With your permission,” The doctor said carefully, without looking at him. “I would like to take a blood sample, then feed you on my blood, then take another.”   
  
Sean blinked, suddenly tense. It ought not to have startled him so. From the doctor's thoughts, he had known that he had intended to ask for this eventually. Yet Geoffrey's presence altered the context and gave the bloodletting a very different character.   
  
“Saint.” McCullum – _Geoffrey –_ said gently. “The two of us have had a chat about your 'treatment'. He's worried about you, so am I. Truth be told, we've also had a chat about _you_ and that's... that's why I'm here too. You've got a pretty shit decision to make and we agreed it was better coming from me.”  
  
Sean nodded. “Please. Ask what you will. As the Lord is my Shepherd, I will try to listen with an open mind.”  
  
“Thank you _mo chara_. Take a seat, if you like?” The big man positioned himself behind a chair, but did not sit so neither did Sean.   
  
“I am well, my friend. Please, speak plainly.”   
  
After a moment, McCullum - Geoffrey - started in casual tones. “So, Reid tells me you've been in contact with other Skals for almost a decade now.”   
  
Sean glanced to the doctor, who only raised his smooth hand in a placating gesture. “I swear I have betrayed no trusts, Sean. He knows no specifics.” With a wry smile, he added, “And he understands perfectly well why that should be.”   
  
“If you must know, I choose to take it as a compliment.” Geoffrey chuckled. “But, you see, I'm hoping you or your friends might know something we don't. Because otherwise, it's option one or option two, and they're both shit.”  
  
The two had separated from each other; Doctor Reid at the table, McCullum standing beside it, but it was clear that they were of the same mind.

Sean spread his hands, “Go on, Mr McCullum.”

Geoffrey sighed. It was a heavy sound. “Option one: We keep taking care of you. If we're going to do that, you can't carry on without Reid's blood. You just can't. Your body uses it for sustenance, and once it's gone, the blood that Made you starts to take over. Reid's working on a cure, but it's unlikely to come anytime soon.”   
  
“I have overcome my inhibitions about that, Mc- Geoffrey.” Sean answered, a little embarrassed. By all reason, he should be **less** willing now that he had seen into the doctor's soul, yet his nights of contemplation had not been without fruit. Both the Lord and Old Bridget had given him the insights he had needed.

“We haven't though, Sean. You're a Skal, more-or-less. If you keep feeding from him, we'll only get closer. All three of us. And we aren't good people.”

“You know I disagree on that.”

McCullum looked pained. His big fists bunched and released in agitation. “You don't know how much it helps us that you believe that. But we aren't _people_ , Sean. People don't act like we do. We're not human, and I think you're already starting to forget that, a little. You haven't reminded me to watch myself around you for weeks.”

Sean balked at that, “Because I haven't needed to, Mr McCullum.”

“I disagree, Sean.” McCullum shook his head and smiled, sadly, “Strongly, in point of fact. I think you just don't mind it so much.”  
  
“Mr McCullum, you have respected my faith, my flock and my service to God... even my capacity to choose. As the Lord is my shepherd, I can see no reason to rebuke you.”  
  
“Do you trust me, Sean?”  
  
“Of course.”   
  
McCullum winced and Sean's heart sank when he said, “What happened to 'you will always ask as an Ekon, and I will always answer as a Skal', _a_ _Séan_? You used to know better.”

Sean swallowed, and looked down. He thumbed the worn wood of his cross again, and knew not what to say.

“Sean,” Doctor Reid slid his words smoothly into the silence. “We immortals are predators. The only self-aware ones in the animal kingdom, which means we are the only ones who can contemplate what it means.” His eyes flashed with good humour. “As predators go, Geoffrey has pointed out that I am **particularly** territorial. I don't quite see it the same way, but I admit that there are only three other Ekon I welcome - “

“Tolerate.” Geoffrey corrected.  
  
“Tolerate,” The doctor admitted, “Within this city.”

“Which suits me too.” Geoffrey picked up easily. “Fewer leeches per head than almost anywhere else.”  
  
“The point is,” The doctor resumed. “I am a predator. My nature has reconciled to my caring for you by perceiving you, essentially, as belonging to me. The more I care for you, the more pressing that perception becomes.” 

McCullum interrupted gently. “It started out that way with him and me too. It's how the predator side calms down. These days, we're a bit closer than that, as you've surmised _._ Coming closer to us means... being a part of that.”  
  
Sean nodded, blushing. For all his protestations, he knew he had imposed rather more than he had meant to at their house. It had simply felt... natural, to rest his head against the doctor and drowse by the fire.

McCullum's voice roughened with emotion. “If you accept option one, Sean, we won't deny you your shelter, or your flock. We won't make you kneel, ever again. We'll do our best to be kind. But... unless you know something we don't, we all know what it means for us to look after you.” McCullum pinched his nose, fighting back the tears that would have compromised all Sean's reason. “You'll become ours, Sean.”

God forgive him if he was not seeing clearly, but it did not sound like a torment.

“If you can't reconcile with that, I don't blame you. That brings us to option two...”   
  
Sean nodded and tried to hold with his promise to listen with an open mind.  
  
“If Reid doesn't keep giving you his blood, you'll relapse... eventually. You'll fall under the control of a worse beast than him; a creature called The Red Queen. She won't care anything for your faith, or your flock.”

Sean remembered the voice; the _female_ voice, and the name fit her completely. As though he'd always known it, but hadn't been given the words.

“If that's your choice then... We'll keep away and let you live out the time you have.” McCullum turned the chair around so its back faced towards Sean, and sat down at last. The tortured emotion left his voice and it became smooth and professional once more. “I'll try to make it so you don't even see me keeping an eye... and I'll take care of you when the time comes. But... That's all there is. The only freedom we can offer you. And that's why I'm hoping you've got another option for the table?”  
  
There was hope in Geoffrey's tone, and it pained Sean to know that there was no alternative he could offer. Old Bridget had warned him, many times. Feeling desperate, he looked towards Doctor Reid, but he only nodded his agreement.   
  
“No. I do not.” The words had been spoken quietly, and pitifully. Sean had not intended to sound so. “Even the other Skals aren't wholly certain of me. I am an outsider to them, not only because I live here.”  
  
“If it helps, Sean, we both treasure you.” The doctor's voice caressed the words. “But we are vampires. We truly are killers. If you can not contemplate existing with us, I will understand. I will not force you to stay.”   
  
Sean lifted his head. The last words had been filled with such pain, as if they bled from an open wound. All he wanted was to comfort the doctor and yet... yet Sean was strong enough to see that he must defer, unless he was certain of his choice. McCullum had been right.   
  
“It's not something you have to answer right now, Sean.” Doctor Reid added in his own breed of professional tone, “But we needed to ask before I took your blood, and before you take mine.”  
  
McCullum cut in with a savage gesture, “No. The choice has to come before that, either way. You said you don't know if it affects him that way.”

A sliver of clarity cut through the fog at that. Now that he knew the circumstances, the distance the two men were keeping from each other took on a deeper meaning.

“Doctor Reid,” Sean said, his confidence growing with his conviction. “May I touch your hand?”

“Of course, Sean.” 

Not trusting himself to speak, not even knowing if he would have been able to, he moved closer. The doctors very presence was hypnotic, seductive … and sinful. Where McCullum crouched like a lion, Doctor Reid reclined in the chair, lean and long, like a dragon.   
  
Sean raised his hand, and stopped. For the first time, he felt ashamed of his gnarled fingers, eternally deformed by the damage done before the doctor had found him. It was vanity, he thought. He ought to turn it out. But as the Doctor gazed at him with piercing grey eyes, and he knew why it bothered him so.

“Please.” He managed to say, speaking down towards his own chest. “Tell me the truth, Doctor Reid.”

When the doctor did not understand, he made a small, pawing motion towards his own face, and hoped it would convey what his voice could not.

Doctor Reid gave a small, sad smile, and his faced changed. His features became sharper. His skin became more pale and speared through with jagged veins. His pale scars darkened, seeming fresher; more livid. His eyes were the eyes of a dragon, black around the edges, glowing blood red with little catlike slits.

Sean placed his hand over the doctor's, and knew things. He knew that although the doctor would regret it deeply, he truly would accept Sean's decision if he could not live in the manner offered. There had been a woman he loved, with red hair. There had been a sister he loved, with dark hair.   
  
There had been many more, on the fields of France.

Sean found his voice. “Will you cure me, Doctor?”

“I will try, Sean.” The doctor squeezed his hand. “If there is a cure, I will find it.”

McCullum spoke up, “You have my word I will do everything I can to set you free when that is so.”

He wanted to accept; would have wanted to if the two men had been human, if he had been... But could he reconcile such sin and still speak the Lord's name without blasphemy? Knowing, as he did, where it would lead?

_This is my commandment; that ye love one another, as I have loved you._

_If we confess our sins, the Lord our Father is faithful, and just, and will forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness._

His hand slipped from the doctor's, and Sean took up the candle. By its light, he illuminated the face of the Saviour, and asked His forgiveness. His trembling hands took up the Book, and pages turned under his gnarled hands as he searched, shifting under the film of tears upon his eyes.   
  
He did not know if the passage he was recalling was New Testament or Old. It mattered, greatly.   
  
_We each have different gifts, according to the faith God has given to each of us. If it_ _it is serving, then serve;_   
  
Romans 12. After the Saviour had come. After the covenant. After he had spilled his blood for the sinners. Sean stood and with greater certainty, asked his Good Father to forgive him if he erred now, as and when he could repent.

“I would like to stay, and tend my flock, Doctor Reid. However that must be.” Much more quietly, he added. “And I am not … averse to the circumstances.”  
  
*****

His blood drained into the chamber, drawn softly out by the doctor's practised hands. Afterwards, the doctor asked how he would prefer to take his blood in return.   
  
Slowly, hesitating, Sean wobbled up to his feet. He could not look at the doctor. Still, now that he had chosen to accept this path, it was easier.  
  
He knew, of course, that the Lord had already made his judgement upon him, back in that accursed warehouse. At the end, Sean had not been brave. He had been afraid to die. He had pleaded with William and God to spare him. His Good Father had heard his doubting heart and sent Dr Reid to grant him reprieve.

Now, eternity stretched out before him in reward for his virtue and toil. Yet his heart had been heard and weighed. He had been Saved, but at a price most dear; cast out of the Kingdom forever.

Purgatory had many forms.

Now, Sean was neither damned nor saved, but eternal; an instrument of God's will, a vessel for His love on earth. Freed from mortal sin. No longer mortal. Now and forever, gifted by God to serve. To serve forever.  
  
Yet the Lord was never cruel. He had granted him a kindness in ensuring that he would not be alone in His eternity. These men shared his burden and found succour in his company, just as surely as he found succour with them. They treasured him and nourished him, both despite his weaknesses and because of them. They knew his fate and did not mind. They wished to know him better, but had needed to know his wishes in turn.  
  
Unable to say the words, he simply rested his trembling fingers alongside the doctor's neck. He had wanted to, for so long. Yet he had restrained.

No longer.

Dr Reid loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt at the top, revealing a flash of alabaster skin. Then he spread his arms like wings and welcomed him, trusting him into that vulnerable place. Sean wept, until the ambrosial scent of his blood filled the air. Then, he wept no more.  
  
His tongue betrayed him, lapping out to press hard against the wound. Stomach cramping with hunger, he wrapped his arms around the doctors body. The contact felt natural, easy, as though he had done it all his life.

Stars burst behind his eyes, as he drew the warm wave down his throat. The low susurration started up; a cyclical sound like the surf on the beach as he drew the elixir hard into his body and swallowed, released, and drew again. His skin tingled. His heart trembled. The sensations started low, rose to a pinnacle at the apex, then fell away agonisingly, compelling him to draw again to feel that sweet salvation.

He felt clean and pure wherever it touched and, mouthful by sweet mouthful, it filled him from the bottom up.

Geoffrey had come to their side, resting his hand on the doctor's shoulders. His fingers were kneading gently at the doctor's flesh, and Sean felt a ghostly mirror across his own back. Oh, why would Geoffrey not touch _him._

He could have wept with relief when the doctor took Geoffrey's hand and moved it to Sean's back. The contact he had longed for; tender and loving, stroking him between the shoulder blades as he drew that precious, precious liquid into his body.

“Enough now, Sean.” Doctor Reid said, his voice husky and breathless.

Sean obeyed. Already, he was losing control of his body. The blood surged through him, as every nerve and cell was healed by its touch, singing their praises for this gift. He felt an ecstasy of purpose; the certainty that nothing which felt so good could be without God's grace.

He barely felt the bee-sting of the needle in his arm. Delirious, he tried to push it away but McCullum's strong hands held his away, comforting him. He did not want that. He did not want the doctor to take his blood that way. He wanted... He wanted...But if he managed to make his want known, it was not acknowledged.  
  
He was being laid down in his own narrow bed. The blankets drawn over him so that he could sleep, safe and loved. He longed for them to stay. He knew they could not.   
  
His Maker needed to sustain himself, after he had given so much.

***  
  
They had picked their targets before going to see Sean. Now, they raced through the night together to find the first one.

Pairs of people who suited Geoffrey's preferences weren't abundant, so tonight they would hunt twice. Still, they would hunt together.   
  
They caught up with him near the edge of the park where he plied his trade. Jonathan's whole body sang with the thrill of watching his progeny at work; the predatory power as he leaned down to murmur, “ _Come along, beast._ ”   
  
Under the little bridge, Geoffrey took his prey and drank like a man who had been dying of thirst. Pressing close against his back, Jonathan's hands sought under the hem and found his thick manhood, teasing it up in deviant strokes even as he fed; drawing out the euphoria, magnifying the sin.

Next, onwards to Whitechapel. Half-rapturous with the second-hand blood high from Geoffrey, he could barely compose himself long enough to convince her to let them in. He wasted no time toying with her. As his fangs closed over her pulse and the sweet rush hit his throat, he thrilled to feel his Progeny's hands at his belt.

 _This was all I wanted,_ She said as she went, _To be wanted badly enough to be destroyed in my turn._

He had been so very happy to oblige her.   
  
Then Geoffrey did what Sean never would, kneeling before him to give praise with his mouth and tongue. As fresh blood pounded into his heart and throbbed between them, Jonathan let his head roll back and gave low voice to his ecstasy.   
  
Neither of them could resist any longer, broken by the long, drawn out arousal that had started the moment Sean's mouth closed on his neck. Jonathan took Geoffrey right there in that house, amid the stolen things and pill bottles.

When they came, clawing each other open like animals in frenzy, it felt like salvation and damnation combined. It felt like an armistice after too long at war.

Overwhelmed, spent, satisfied, it was only their native survival instincts which compelled them to stand again, to set fire to the house, to call the fire wagons, and return home for sunrise.


	9. To reach out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Space to breathe. Offered hearts. When the Hunter is away...

“Good evening, Sean.”  
  
“Good evening, Doctor Reid. What brings you to our humble shelter?”  
  
“I wanted to see about improving your sanitary situation, Sean. Normally it's something a nurse would be better placed for, but … I wanted to help.”  
  
***  
  
There was no denying that Sean was a good influence. It seemed real this time too – lasting more than a few delusional moments. Still, McCullum kept an eye on them both. He'd started all this when he pushed them together and he'd be damned if he left off before being sure it wasn't a mistake.

As the nights passed, Geoffrey could practically _see_ the predatory part backing up, giving Reid's humanity some space to breathe.  
  
***  
  
Even from downstairs, Geoffrey heard the wooden blinds creak open and smiled.  
  
Reid never sneaked out to visit Sean _exactly._ Still, it was oddly adorable how he _didn't_ say where he was going. Somehow it felt less like him flexing his authority, more like him sheepishly avoiding admitting that Geoffrey had been _right_.  
  
***  
  
Reid was working again, scribbling his notes between glances into the microscope.  
  
McCullum stooped behind the chair, wrapping his arms around while he buried his face in the crook of Reid's neck. “I'm heading out to hunt, beast. You coming?”  
  
The monster actually hesitated for a moment. “Allow me ten minutes? This is promising.”  
  
“Sure thing.” McCullum growled softly, stepping back and leaving him to it.  
  
He had to agree. The monster delaying the hunt to work instead? 'Promising' wasn't strong enough a word.

***  
  
Two nights later, Geoffrey awoke, ravenous and disorientated. He was in the bed, but his head was on the pillow; not the normal position. He couldn't remember...  
  
Reid rolled over next to him and stroked his face, bringing his wrist against Geoffrey's lips.  
  
“Drink.” The monster said.

Despite the deafening hunger, McCullum felt... something _far_ too sentimental to put words to. Reid had made an offer, not a command. Spoken, not driven into his head. The way he had _used_ to, before he'd started slipping so badly.

McCullum obliged gratefully.  
  
“Do you remember...?” Reid asked, after he'd withdrawn his fangs and settled back.

“Yeah.” McCullum grumbled. His new crossbow. He'd been working on it for weeks. It was a heavy beast, squatting on his arm like an iron scorpion. Geoffrey had barely noticed the weight as he lined up and squeezed the trigger. “Well, sort of. I guess the cable wasn't up to the strain?”  
  
Reid hissed. “It almost took your head off, Geoffrey.”

“Shit.” Was all he could say to that.

“Please.” Reid whispered, wrapping around him, resting his head against his shoulder. “Please be more careful.”  
  
Stunned by the pure humanity of it, Geoffrey could only roll his head to rest his lips against his Maker's head. There had been no possessive rage, no monstrous control; only honest fear, and human tenderness. As far as he could tell, Reid wasn't even in his head.  
  
“I'll do my best.” He promised.  
  
***  
  
A week later, the first big change took him completely by surprise. For all his taunts and jibes, he hadn't really believed that the beast had been truly unhappy... until then.  
  
They were in Campbells, the Gentleman's Outfitters. That itself wasn't anything new. Reid tried it sometimes, desperate to foist a little class onto his Progeny. The store was pure toff territory. Not a single price tag to be seen. There was a goddamn piano in the corner, as if to say 'we make so much money that we can waste space on this'.  
  
“These never last, Reid.” He grumbled. He'd said it before, and he would undoubtedly say it again. As always, his Maker squeezed his arse and sent him off to the tailor's station to be fitted.  
  
What _was_ different was when, during the fitting, he saw Jonathan gravitate towards the piano. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his Maker lay his fingers lightly on the keys.  
  
The ghost of a melody echoed in Geoffrey's mind, tingling with fond amusement, peppered with warm thoughts of him. A moment later, a second-hand song followed; Reid's rich baritone rolling in as the doctor sang inside his head.

… _I didn't think you'd do it, I guess you always knew it..._  
 _  
_… _Give me, give me, give me what I cry for. You've got the kind of kisses that I die for..._

_...You know you made me love you...._

God damn.

It had been a long time since he'd heard the doctor singing to himself.  
  
***  
  
The reports from Flanders were becoming too much to bear. The beast behind it all had slipped the net and the trail had gone cold. This was exactly the sort of thing they _should_ call him in for. If Wilson didn't drop him a note soon, he'd just have to stomach McCullum turning up uninvited.  
  
Still, he held out. A tamer beast was all well and good, but it didn't mean Sean was safe. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, exactly, until one day Sean was standing in front of him.  
  


“Nice togs, Sean. They new?”  
  
Of course, they weren't _new._ He could see that. New clothes would have been all wrong on the Saint and he'd probably have given them away. But they were _better._ His trousers fit and for the first time, the shirt wasn't stained.  
  
“Oh, thank you, Geoffrey. Only new to me, I'm afraid, but I am grateful for them.”  
  
“One of his little gifts?” He asked with a conspiratorial wink.  
  
Sean blushed and admitted. “Yes.”  
  
Just behind him, out of the little Skal's line of sight, Reid smirked.  
  
If it was a statement of intent, it was the right one. It would have been too easy to give him something fancy, something the Saint could never have worn in good conscience. Instead, Reid had treated him like a person.  
  
***  
  
Finally, when Jonathan went two days without bothering to hunt because he was busy with his work, McCullum decided that now was the time to go, if ever.  
  
Reid didn't seem surprised. In fact, he invited him to come with him to the Shelter again before he left. It was time to give Sean blood again, but Geoffrey had already made up his mind on that.

“No, beast. You two need to sort things out between yourselves. I'm just in the way, for now.”  
  
Reid took his hand and kissed it, nipping seductively at the knuckles as he asked, “What if we both _want_ you to be in the way, Hunter?”

“Feeling a little less covetous now, leech?” He chuckled.  
  
“Quite the contrary.” Reid growled into his skin, “But we've established how things lie, so now I could be more... accommodating.”

“Then consider it a good reason not to get my arse handed to me.” He leant over and kissed Reid deeply, savouring the prickle of his beard against his chin. He didn't know how long he'd be gone, how long it would be before he could do this again.  
  
“I very much doubt you need one, Geoffrey.” Reid purred back, teasing McCullum with his own words. “But alright. I'll let you go, for now.”  
  
“Beast.” Geoffrey chuckled.  
  
***  
  
“I'm glad he has.” Sean said agreeably, when Jonathan explained why Geoffrey would not be joining them. “It has been preying upon his mind, and he will do good work there.”

“Yes, and it serves a dual purpose. If we're lucky, he'll come across something relevant to your condition.”  
  
As he waited for the vial to fill, Sean unexpectedly covered his hand with his own.

“You are afraid for him.” The little Saint said, softly.

“Yes, Sean.”  
  
“He is more than strong enough. He had been fighting such creatures since he was a boy.”

“And others besides.” Jonathan added, bitterly. “But that is not what worries me. I mostly fear that he won't … I suppose that he will not look after himself. He has never thrived in my absence.”

“I think he will now. Have faith.”

Without thinking, Jonathan stroked his hand along the side of Sean's head, brushing briefly through his ginger hair. It was an affectionate gesture, but more than he ought to torment Sean with. The Skal seemed to induce the same tenderness he felt towards Geoffrey. Strange that it was so absent for Edgar.

He felt Sean lean in, ever so gently, to the caress.

Jonathan took his hand back and gently removed the vial, and the needle.

“How would you prefer to take my blood, Sean?” He asked, determined to make a ritual of asking. It was the only way he could trust himself to carry it forward.

Sean's eyes flitted to the floor and stayed there. Jonathan smiled as the blush spread along his cheeks, entranced by the flush of crimson which raised the broken skin in pale contrast. Hesitantly, Sean put his fingers against his own neck.

“Of course.” Jonathan said warmly. “Come.”

But as he invited Sean forward, he picked up a whisper of desire; a meek little want. Quiet. Suppressed. But there.

He rested his hand on Sean's chest. Fear of rejection flashed through Sean's mind and body at once. He would have shrunk away, but Jonathan caught him by his wrist.  
  
“I hear you, Sean.” He said softly, amused, stroking the Skal's jaw to encourage him to look up. “Do you want me to? Kiss you, that is?”

It was giddy, feeling Sean's butterflies burst in his own stomach. He heard the cacophonous rush of whispering verses, passages forbidding indulgence, counselling against sin _lest it make you a slave_.

Thinking of Geoffrey, holding his promises to him as the only restraint Jonathan could rely on, he smiled patiently. “I won't, if you're not sure.”  
  
He could wait. He had forever.  
  
He dragged a claw deep into his own neck, and felt the blood pulse up, chasing the tip to the surface. Sean's pupils contracted and he came forward again, gazing upon the wound with such terror and reverence that it could not fail to make an Ekon shiver.

As Sean closed his mouth around the wound, Jonathan let himself bend beneath the passion of that kiss. Resting his face in the crook between Sean's neck and shoulder, he breathed gently, marvelling at the complex, cyclical tug as his Skal fed upon him.

Blood of his blood. What a precious creature he was. Whatever Sean felt, he felt it with complete devotion.

The primal desire to command Sean was becoming less alien now. When he'd first indulged it to save him, it had startled Jonathan. Before Geoffrey, it had bewildered him. Now, he understood himself better. Contact made it more familiar, yet somehow more desirable, ever more inevitable.

But he would resist, as long as he could. For Geoffrey, if no one else.  
  
“Let go now, Sean.”

***  
  
Sunrise. Sunset.

A long blink. Awake again.

No weight on his chest. No claws at his throat. The empty bed held no comforts.

Jonathan rose and stretched, then prepared his slides before he went to dress. He had more than enough to keep him occupied and his progress was promising. In time, he had confidence that he would fully isolate the disease.  
  
Yet, by two o'clock, he found himself becoming restless. During the epidemic, he had at times worked for days without pause. Now, the epidemic was over. Now, there was too much time.

Time enough to lose focus. Time enough for the hunger to rise.

***

Jonathan's target was Ms Mazur; a murderess of three counts. Geoffrey would have been pleased. She deserved it more than most.

He caught up with her near Fleet Street, luring her easily into the shadows without even caging her mind. The hunger in her eyes was the same as his; both of them contemplating the bounty of the other's death. Sweetly, so sweetly, he lulled her mind under as he drew her close, savouring the smell of her sweat.

And yet, something held him back.

He hungered, of course. He always hungered. Yet, he was not _hungry_. The difference was subtle but real. If he killed her now, it would be indulgence for the sake of indulgence.

Still, that had never mattered before.

Perplexed by himself, he released her and walked away. He could always come for her tomorrow.

***  
  
When he arrived at the shelter, Sean came to meet him in the courtyard. At first, he approached carefully, nostrils flaring. Then he looked up, his pale eyes joyful.

 _He can tell_ , Jonathan remembered. Sean ought not be so optimistic. There was no cure for what Jonathan was. Still, he might as well enjoy this small reward for his restraint.

“Good morning, Doctor Reid.”  
  
“Good morning, Sean. How are -”  
  
Jonathan broke off as the little Skal stepped close and wrapped his arms around his waist. Jonathan flinched back instantly. The cross that hung around the Saint's neck was no mere ornament. When Sean looked hurt, Jonathan could only gesture, apologetically, to the rosary. “It will hurt me, Sean.”  
  
“It did not before.” The Saint asserted, as if chastising him.  
  
Jonathan blinked. Of course, it hadn't. Only, he had not been so... surprised by Sean's contact then. What did that mean? There must be a scientific basis for it, even if he couldn't -  
  
Sean leaned up, and kissed him.

The lips were warm against his. It had been no more than a peck, fleeting, there and gone again, the way children kissed.

But it had _happened_.  
  
“Might I trouble you to have a look at some of my flock?” Sean said, “There is a sickness going around.”  
  
“Of course, Sean.”

Sean hovered as he worked, worrying over his fold. It was influenza, but of a type far less virulent than the Spanish flu; unlikely to be fatal except to the very old, or very young. Jonathan found himself swept up in the activity of dismantling tents, and setting them up as a makeshift quarantine on the upper levels. Peaceful work.

Purposeful.

Afterwards, Sean took his hand and lead him to the back room. He was trembling, but only a little.

“Would you... Would you do me a great favour and lean down, Doctor Reid?”  
  
Amused, Jonathan realised it would be the first time he had leaned down to another since his death except for the Embrace. So he obliged, smiling. When the little Skal rested his hands on his chest and tilted up, there was no longer anything fleeting about it.

The electric charge thrummed as their lips pursed, gently, slowly, and Sean's conflicted heart opened to him. Sean might be inexperienced, but he compensated with absolute and fervent dedication. Sean _wanted_ , as keenly and purely as any man could.

 _Please._ His heart was saying. _Help me to do this._

Jonathan found himself teasing his hand along Sean's jaw, up into the hairline and cupping the back of his head to draw him up into the kiss. And over and under the thrum, like a harmony, he heard something else. Something barely audible, barely credible, but persistent, even desperate.

 _Please_ , His heart was saying. _Make me do this._

Seductive. Too seductive. Dangerous. Luring Jonathan in, tantalizing to all his worst instincts. It called a growl out of his own chest and Sean shivered to hear it.

Jonathan broke off and moved back, sharply. He couldn't... It was only Sean's Skal nature. Something he could not take advantage of in this way. Not without becoming an entirely different kind of monster.  
  
His Progeny's thoughts came as clear as spoken words, calling him back.

_Please._

Gently, Jonathan cupped his hands alongside Sean's head, looking into those brilliant, bright eyes. He had to know... he had to listen... All Sean's fears poured across, through the vibrations in his skin, through his wet and shining eyes, and Jonathan dipped beneath the flow.  
  
 _My dear colleague._ He thought, as Sean's psyche pitched and rolled. _Dr Beuler... you had no idea.  
  
_ Dr Beuler's work grappled with the idea that there was an ambivalence within the subconscious; that even a perfectly healthy mind could experience simultaneous, opposing drives... that the psyche was layered but the greater part was hidden from easy study. It was a key and controversial aspect of depth psychology...and an exceptionally recent discovery.

He saw now that Beuler had barely begun to scratch the surface of that effect in a mind touched by trauma.

“I hear you, Sean.” Jonathan said, pulling his progeny to his chest, wrapping his arms around him as chaste as a lamb. “I hear you.”  
  
Sean did not resist the close contact, though raw bursts of emotion flickered as they escaped the cage Sean's mind had built around them.  
  
“You can not hurt me, Sean.” He soothed, answering all he had heard. “There is nothing you can do that would harm me in any lasting way. Your anger does not frighten me. Your urges are not anathema to me.” He stroked behind his ear, kneading gently. “I do not care.”  
  
“Forgive me.” Sean was weeping openly now.  
  
“There is nothing to forgive, Sean.” Reluctantly, he added, addressing Sean's mistaken belief. “But you must know that God did not send me to you. I was only investigating, and it was fortunate I arrived in time. Although I am glad I did.”  
  
Though the voice was muffled against Jonathan's shirt, it was unmistakably serene and certain. “That is how you interpret events, doctor. Not I.”  
  
As the blood sang between them, Jonathan willed himself back to logical thoughts. He knew he must, for Geoffrey's sake. Sean's mind and heart were pouring out to him and he could not... must not... treat this lightly. His own heart was stuttering to life, striving to match itself to Sean's pulse as his blood shifted to sympathise with his. A new hunger was rising.

Stepping back, he found himself lifting his hand to stroke underneath Sean's chin, raising the little Skal's head a little. Sean yielded to it completely and the shock of visceral pleasure took Jonathan by surprise. He rumbled, suddenly rapt. 

This gesture was bone-deep and blood-borne. The elevation made Sean completely vulnerable, unable to protect his neck. Yet he felt Sean's submission to it; a trust that he would not strike, a recognition of the vampire's power over him. The animal truth of one beast yielding to another, acknowledging its utter defencelessness against the greater monster.

It satisfied him and all his monstrous nature, so _very_ deeply.

Going carefully, straining to remove all command from the words, he asked, “Would you like to come home with me, Sean?”  
  
Sean's breath caught. “I cannot. My flock...”  
  
He trailed off into silence; torn, conflicted, filled with longing and the reluctant distraction of duty.

“If they would be tended to, would you?”  
  
Breathless, Sean whispered, “Yes.”  
  
“Then wait here, Sean. I will return soon. I promise.”  
  
This was too important. Sean might fear for his fold the moment he was gone, but there were other ministers; other churches; other people who could hold up the candle for a little while. Jonathan decided that – tonight – they would.  
  
Lottie slept lightly and woke easily. Jonathan sat beside her bed and explained that he would be taking the Saint in for treatment tonight.

After he had soothed her worries, gently nudging her mind away from questions he did not care to answer, she assured him that there were few practical matters that could not be handled by others for a night or two.  
  
The spiritual matters were the sticking point. Sean always lead the morning prayer before he succumbed to 'the exhaustion of his condition'. Before dinner, he always gave grace.  
  
“Could you not give those in his place?”  
  
Lottie mumbled at that, feeling herself inadequate to the task. Jonathan swallowed the first urge towards violence. She believed too strongly in 'the Saint' to conceive of standing in his place, even to help him. The selfishness of her self-doubt was enough to make any red-blooded vampire long to tear her throat out. Jonathan forced his mind back into calm. He was not an animal. He knew this woman.

“Lottie, listen to me.” He said, going carefully. “Do you believe what the Saint believes? That God has a plan for all of us?”  
  
Clasping her hands together, her tired eyes met his, “I do, Doctor. Whatever evil there is in this world, we can defeat it if we are only tenacious.”  
  
“Then Lottie, _you know that your sister is with Him now.”_ It felt scandalous for him – of all people – to say, but there were few better reasons than this. “It was not your fault that you could not save her. It was her own fate, not yours. _Sean needs you to be strong, so that he can recover and return._ Will you help him? Can you care for his flock in his absence?”  
  
If her eyes had filmed with tears, he would have let her be. If she had fought him, he would have released her. She was Sean's. He did not wish to break her.  
  
Yet her clasped hands closed more firmly, and she said with certainty, “Yes, Doctor. As long as there is love here, God will not turn his eye from this place. I do not know if I can but, I will certainly try.”  
  
“ _You can, Lottie. You are strong enough.”_

“Aw. That's very kind of you to say, Dr Reid.”

Jonathan nodded and turned away, letting her settle into her new mental state. Perhaps it had been cruel and he was simply too monstrous to see it. Well then, if there was any truth to what the two of them believed, Jonathan suspected it could apply here; God worked in mysterious ways.  
  
“Will you come with me, Sean?”  
  
The little Skal rose, but protested softly. “I must see to -”  
  
“Your flock will be well tended. You should speak with Lottie before we go, and reassure yourself. Then, if you like, come.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Reid sings is "You Made Me Love You - Al Jolson (1913). Now, I don't get on with Al Jolson's voice so much - very much a product of the era... but the thought of Reid's baritone there made me simply melt. 
> 
> Linked here if you like : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hI5FAwhjrNE


	10. To yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No soul is meant to be caged forever. The Saint is no exception. But is this what he wants...?
> 
> "No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors notes: Sean is a wonderful complex being and a metaphor for so much. Way back at the beginning of this thing, I said that there were reasons I felt I could write so explicitly about him and still have it be a work of love. My partner/beta reader suggested I should say this again before this chapter, because whilst this chapter is not completely rampant with smut, but it is the last and probably heaviest chapter dealing with Sean's internal conflict. 
> 
> In truth, I never meant to delve this deeply into Sean's psychology, but as I went on, I realised how *badly* I wanted to. Most fangfic avoids, one way or another, the heavy complexity of Sean's character. I totally get why, but I felt the absence of a fic that tackled it head-on and broke on through to the other side. So, I decided to write it. 
> 
> This is the chapter where Sean comes to terms with himself. It can't help but get heavy in the middle. It's a heavy subject. But all of this, every word, comes from a place of deep understanding. I hope you enjoy it, and all the wild release that comes later, knowing that it comes from the fight towards love, life and acceptance, even between monsters.

The walk gave him time to consider the matter more rationally, to distance himself from the immediacy of understanding which had thrown both of them into disarray.  
  
He had seen... heard... comprehended Sean on an inhuman level. His Skal … and he truly was **his** Skal... could have no secrets from him. Geoffrey had fought for every inch; forcing every confession to be wrenched out of him. Of course, even if he were not the man he was, Geoffrey was an Ekon; capable of challenging him. Allied predators, discerning their pecking order.

Sean was not.

But did _Sean_ understand? Did he understand what he was offering, what he was asking ? Did he hear the song the blood was singing?  
  
For just a moment, the doctor contemplated his bestial nature from a distance. He considered what Geoffrey might have to say about it. As he unlocked the front door and welcomed Sean in, he decided that he could allow what came next, as doctor and monster entangled once more.  
  
This would not be the usual kind of hunt. This was more like the tentative stalking of beasts seeking their own kind; a wolf considering a weaker beast, contemplating whether to allow it any closer. Perhaps, even, something more than that.  
  
**

The house was warm this time and Dr Reid flicked on the lights as they entered. A wine-coloured sofa now occupied the space by the fire. Dr Reid contemplated it for a moment, then turned to him.

Once again, the smooth fingers slipped under his jaw and bore a tremor into his body, awakening a longing he could not define. Yet he knew this; no sinful thing could possibly feel so pure as the love he felt through that caress.  
  
He was safe here. He need not be afraid.

The doctor's voice rumbled, low and compelling. “Tell me, Sean. What do you feel?”

“I …” The strength in those gentle fingers was incredible; a stone pillar Sean could lean into, even as he struggled to find the words. “I cannot...” He broke off.

Of course, he could not. The words had been crushed and caged for so long. They would not stir when he called. His heart grew heavy even as his stomach clenched, even as fear and uncertainty crowded against the peace that he had... just for a moment... found.

 _Those who live like this will not enter the Kingdom of God..._  
  
Sean winced. “I do not... I do not know what I feel.”  
  
“Try.” The doctor's voice was gentle, but so deep, resonating in his chest.  
  
_And put to death whatever belongs to your earthly nature...  
  
_“I... I know I am safe here, doctor. But I cannot... I cannot...make myself...”

“You know, you do not have to.” Dr Reid answered. 

_Those who make them will be like them …_  
  
“I _want_ to.” Sean hissed.  
  
If there was anywhere that he could allow his heart to be seen by earthly eyes, surely it was here? There was sides of him that he prayed his flock would never see; the reasons for his patience and understanding that they were not willing to believe. The sinful urges of Skal and Man. Yet they were not here, and he should be able to speak. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes.  
  
The doctor eased his hand away then and pulled Sean close instead, holding him gently as he asked.  
  
“Will you let me help you?”  
  
“Please.” Sean gasped.  
  
“Then _tell me, Skal.”_

The words burst free, as though he had torn down a wall in his mind and had only needed help to find the crack. God forgive him, but the words came easily then.

“I am a sinner.” Hearing the raggedness of his own voice, “I feel glad to have come here, but I reproach myself. I know I should not. I am no longer mortal. My soul has been judged. Though my duty remains, I now have liberty beyond penitence. Yet... I am afraid.”

“Of me?”  
  
“Of me.” Sean whispered the words at last. They had been locked inside him for _so long._ “Of myself.”

“You do not need to be afraid with me, Sean. You can not hurt me.” The doctors fingers slid behind his ear, stroking and soothing him. “Not in any lasting way. Geoffrey tried... tries... often.”  
  
With gentle mirth, Sean murmured back into his chest. It felt good to rest close to the doctor's breast. “The two of you have an unusual relationship, Dr Reid.”  
  
“We do.” The doctor agreed, then pressed him gently back a step, meeting his eyes. “Do you know what you are offering me, Sean? Are you aware of it?”  
  
Sean's breath caught. The lines of the Doctor's face were long, the tips of fangs visible as he spoke. His eyes were drawn to them and he could not look away.

He did know.

More acutely than ever before, he felt his lack of experience. Yet, when the doctor touched him, he felt his own body answer the touch. He had no context to define it by.  
  
Whispering softly, laying his hand gently upon his head, Dr Reid asked. “Do you know what you are asking, Sean?”

He wanted the doctor to take him as his Skal, to guide and Command him, to take away the war within himself and the pain of decision, to let him serve. Not always... of course... and never to come before his service to God. But now... and whenever they could.  
  
Yet, he could not confess. God help him, God forgive him, but he could not. Too long had the scars set in over his sins, too long had they been reserved between him and the Almighty.  
  
The lie was the lesser sin.

So, he whispered, “No.”

The doctor drew a long, steadying breath and stepped back from him. Sean almost sobbed with the pain, as something deep in his chest collided with the walls he had built around it.

“I hear you, Sean.” Dr Reid said. “But I need you to say it. I can not trust it unless I know you understand.” Sounding pained, the doctor added. “It may not be revocable.”  
  
He heard his own voice break, and the unaccustomed bitterness within it. “I cannot say it, doctor.”  
  
“Then tell me why not.” The vampire said, kneeling down, gazing up again into his eyes. When Sean struggled again, he felt Dr Reid lift him up and over the obstacle. “ _Tell me, Sean._ ”  
  
“I am a slave to my past, Dr Reid. Impure. Tainted by what was done to me. I feel broken. It makes me so _angry._ God forgives me for it, but I can never escape it.”

The doctor looked concerned and Sean heard his own words. The voices in his head, spoken aloud for the first time. He understood then why he was weeping. His own voice sounded broken, far from his usual melodic cadence.  
  
“ _People_ won't let me escape it... they speak of it in sympathy among themselves, but never seek to understand. They raise me up to Sainthood with the tale, and they do not know that they damn me with their words... always reminding me that I am _other_ than a man should be.” Again, he admitted. “It makes me so _angry._ ”  
  
“It is difficult to credit, Sean. You hide it well.”  
  
Hissing, Sean grimaced and at last tore his gaze away. “I do not hide it all, doctor. The Lord's love cleanses me of it. It does the world no good for me to express my anger. It does a great deal of good for me to use that fire to keep my soul alight, to express it in love, and so thwart the anger itself. I know evil, and I know that love can overcome it if we are only tenacious.”

“And yet....” It wasn't a question.

Sean answered it anyway. “And yet I know that you know this already. I am not fit to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but God has granted me such reward as any servant might be blessed to receive... freedom from penitence... I am as God made me ...I am reborn... and still I am too afraid. I am even so wretched as to be ungrateful for His gift.”

“You are not ungrateful, Sean.” The doctor growled, like a great beast. “What you have been through – ”

The words came rushing out through the bars of their fractured cage. “-No longer pains me as much as the scars do, doctor. I am not made of glass. I am a man, like any other. You perhaps know that as no other but God does.”  
  
Sean knew too well that a wound must be salved, and stretched, or the scars would only tighten and bind the skin all the more. A torn hand must be allowed to flex, or it would ache forever. As a doctor, Dr Reid _must_ know this too.  
  
Sean ached to flex the scarred parts of his soul, to let them stretch. Through the doctor's skin, he knew how true Geoffrey's words had been; how deeply the doctor longed to anchor himself within Sean and his care. Like salvation, healing could only be found through striving.  
  
“What do you want, Sean?” His voice was so low, so inhuman, but it was not demanding. It was patient. It was content to be patient.  
  
“You know that.” Sean whimpered, as the tears rolled away, wishing the doctor would put aside the pretence. It was too cruel a burden to require him to speak, when the doctor already _knew_.  
  
Though he had turned his face away, the doctor laid his hands on either side of his head and drew his gaze back. There were no lies there. Inhuman eyes gazed into his, softened by concern, pupils narrowed with predatory hunger.  
  
“Yes, Sean. But do you?”

_Why ought it matter?_

Sean did not think he had spoken aloud. Even so, the doctor answered, softly, stroking his face as he said, almost like an apology. “Geoffrey.” 

Sean's breath caught as he acknowledged the true depth of his transgression. In his weakness, indulging the sin of lust, he had let it fall from his mind as soon as the man was absent. Abominable. Unclean. The scripture unfurled in his mind; _He who commits adultery destroys his own soul - He sins against his own body –_ “Sean!” - _For him it is sin - becometh unclean - Thou shalt not – and blood is on their hands -  
  
_A terrible roar dragged him back. “SEAN.” _  
  
_The doctor was shaking him gently, pressing his voice in between the words of the scripture. “No, Sean. I did not mean it like that. He would welcome this. But he is the only compass I have. I want to, too badly. And if I cannot account to him, I cannot account to myself.”  
  
Startled, Sean felt his heart flutter. The man holding him no longer looked like a man, and yet he did not love him any less. He only wanted to give himself to him.  
  
“Please, Sean.” Dr Reid urged. “I have to know you understand what you are asking.”  
  
Perhaps Sean ought to have been afraid of that ferocity, but he was not. That rage was not for him. It was for those who had made this so _hard_ for him. With the doctor's hands on his, with their skin touching, he _knew_ that. _  
  
“_I want.” He started, the words squeezed out in a whimper, wretched and painful. “But never,” His voice broke. “Never before God.”  
  
“No, Sean.” The doctor growled. “Never before God. Not for you. I will not make you kneel again, I swear it. But you must ask.”  
  
***  
  
Sean's blood was calling to him; a thirst he would have to answer in the next few moments, or flee from the house to save them both. Jonathan's dead heart was beating in time with Sean's pulse; his blood profile shifting to sympathise with the Skal's, to form the bonds of a stronger connection.  
  
It wasn't like the eternal hunger. It did not demand oceans. Only a drop; little more than a drop. Only a scratch. Barely a taste.  
  
Sean was _his_. No wonder Ekon were often so cruel to their misbegotten progeny. It would have been the only way to distance himself, if he did not wish to answer as he did.

If Sean had not so wanted him in return, it would have been easier to deny. But he did. Not only the Skal, but the man as well. He wanted it so powerfully, but he had spent his life building a cage around this very urge. The urge to sin. The urge to serve. Something Jonathan did not understand, but he did not need to understand it to recognise and taste the truth of it.  
  
It called him, scintillating to his instincts to hunt, control and dominate. Yet, just like him, Sean was made of more than just his animal urges. What the Skal wanted, the man might not be able to reconcile. He would not do that to Sean... not again.  
  
“Please, Doctor.” Barely a whisper. “Stay.”  
  
“Sean.” Jonathan turned his eyes away. He heard the monster in his voice, and yet Sean did not draw away even in the face of his hunger. “My blood will not permit me to vacillate, and you need patience that it will not allow me. It is not your fault, Sean. I am what I am.”  
  
He began to stand up; to leave Sean and escape the monster he would _not_ become. He was a monster, but he was not an animal.  
  
  
**  
  
Like the warmth of the forbidden sun, Sean felt understanding dawn inside him against the darkness of the doctor's pain. He knew this. He knew how to salve a tortured soul, even if he did not know how to salve his own.

The paralysis of his mind eased. His own fear could be put aside, to stand united against the fear that another could not face alone. He _must_ speak, before the doctor could leave, before the doctor came to believe himself to be a worse monster than he was.

“What,” He said, hoarse against a dry throat, “Do _you_ want, doctor? Please. Tell me.”  
  
The inhuman eyes flicked back to him, pulsing red as they focused upon his face. “If I tell you,” Doctor Reid growled, “I suspect that you will feel compelled to oblige me. You are mine, Sean. You are my Skal.”  
  
Sean nodded. It was too painfully true, and he treasured the doctor all the more for thinking of it.  
  
“Then,” Sean said carefully. “Will you permit me to ask?”

The doctor's hands fell away and though he stood up, towering above him, he did not turn away. “Ask what you will.”  
  
“Do you wish to receive my service, save when my duty to God or my flock obliges me otherwise?”  
  
The doctor stood motionless. He might have been a statue, save for a crease that deepened between his eyebrows.  
  
“Do you wish me to do as you command, only so long as it does not do harm to another?”  
  
The doctor listened. Now, his eyes moved. Only minutely; like the first crease before a smile.

“Do you wish to take me into your bed and ...?”  
  
Sean faltered. The words were too far from the scripture. Too close to sin. Too far from the Saviour's grace. Though he was not mortal, though the Lord had freed him from sin, he felt the cage close. He floundered, lost, until he felt the cool fingers under his chin; loving, giving, raising his eyes to meet his while whispers of pure delight echoed from the doctor's mind.

“Sean.” He said, in a much more human voice, “Do you want those things?”  
  
Sean breathed out, barely forming his lips around the word. “Yes.”

At last, the doctor pulled him close again, and relented.  
  
******  
  
The furniture was only there because of Sean. Geoffrey had fixed the heating, and had asked Jonathan to find _something._ They were being a 'bloody embarrassment', he said, advertising themselves this way.

Jonathan had contemplated something obnoxiously florid, if only because Geoffrey had been so obstinate that he didn't care. That temptation had gone out the window when Jonathan found this rich, burgundy suite. It was too perfect.  
  
Now, he was grateful he had.  
  
All need for restraint had passed; Sean had laid out his terms, if such they were. The monster in his veins could not only abide by them; it thrilled at the prospect of answering them. As he swept the little Skal up, sliding one arm under him, as he had on that night outside the shelter, Jonathan heard that low pulse again, vibrating between them.

 _Please. I don't know how._ Sean's heart pleaded.

Jonathan only gave a soft growl, burying his face in Sean's neck as he thought, _Don't worry. I do.  
  
_Later, he could be tentative. Later, he could be patient. Now, the blood demanded consummation. They could no longer escape the pull.

Onto the couch with Sean on his lap, he laid his fingers amid Sean's wiry hair, holding his Skal against his body softly but firmly. It gave Sean the illusion of being able to pull away, to flee, if he wanted to.  
  
Only an illusion, of course. Not that it mattered. 

Jonathan purred the words as he drew Sean's face up to his.“Sean, you must be honest with me. _If you do not want this, tell me.”_  
  
Sean did not speak. Instead, he gave everything to the kiss. Gentle on the surface, but painfully earnest. He twitched in surprise as Jonathan's tongue flicked into his mouth, then pressed back.  
  
Tentatively, unsure of himself, Sean's tongue made small, darting forays, lapping against Jonathan's teeth. Then deeper, questing. Whether he knew why, or not, it did not matter. Jonathan knew why. His blood knew why.

He felt Sean brush his tongue over the tips of his fangs and flinch as the unexpectedly sharp edge cut him. Blood burst onto Jonathan's tongue, rich and intoxicating, twisting him utterly around it as he received Sean's answer _at last.  
_  
He had tasted Feral Skals before; flat and stale blood he loathed but drank when he needed it. Sean, his Sean, his blood-bound Skal, was nothing like them.

As the taste hit Jonathan's throat, the hunger roared and closed covetous claws around the precious creature. Sean felt Jonathan's fangs grow under his eager lips, and gasped at the unfamiliar frisson. It reached Jonathan as a delightful tingle, like claws along his spine; Sean's knowledge that he had been wanted, that he _was_ wanted _,_ not as a 'thing' but as himself; that he was a participant; that he was the cause Doctor Reid's hunger.  
  
Perhaps, he understood more than that.  
  
Jonathan drew back, running his thumb along Sean's lower lip. A faint film reddened his mouth; unbearably seductive. Jonathan's long tongue flashed out to taste it again.  
  
Lightly, carefully, he drew the nails of his other hand along Sean's neck, stroking the fragile skin then pressing the soft pads of his fingertips against the pulse point.  
  
“May I?” He rumbled.  
  
Sean gasped raggedly. “Please.”  
  
Jonathan adjusted himself, lifting Sean up until his lips could brush against the pale throat, kissing the keratinous flecks of damaged skin no less lovingly. Sean trembled, but did not flinch. Not even when his fangs followed.

He only gave a little gasp as his Maker's teeth pierced the great vein. Sean's blood burst into Jonathan's mouth, rich and thick.

He tried to be gentle, but Sean tested his restraint with a happy little whimper as Jonathan drew the slow-flowing stream into his mouth. His own neck tingled deliciously in sympathy as it dripped down his throat, salving his pain, warming his heart; satisfying and complex and complete.  
  
The monster settled. The roar curled down into a purr. The raging hunger folding into something much more subtle, much more patient.

Sean whimpered and made another gasping sound, weaker this time. Jonathan snapped back to himself. Moving carefully, he withdrew his fangs cleanly, ensuring that the vein pinched shut and wasted none of what Sean had left.

 _My God._ The blood high hit, profound and unexpected, wrenching him away from his senses.  
  
Even drifting on it, he could hear Sean's pigeon chest fluttering for breath. He had taken more than he had intended. His practised hands felt along Sean's right arm, feeling for pulse and pressure. It was not fatally low, but lower than he ought to have risked. At least there was an obvious remedy.  
  
“Sean.” Teasing the underside of Sean's jaw, he commanded him gently. “Open your mouth.”  
  
Jonathan growled with pleasure as Sean obeyed, though his eyes were glassy and distant, all his focus vested in breathing. His teeth weren't the razor sharp fangs of an Ekon. They weren't made to pierce and puncture. There were tools to rip and tear flesh; inhumanly sharp and monstrously strong. Jonathan ran his thumb along the bottom row, leaving a thin, crimson trail.  
  
Sean licked at it, weakly. Jonathan tutted and returned his hand to his own mouth, placed the meat of his thumb between his fangs, and bit down.

Sean's pupils reacted instantly. When Jonathan offered his hand again, he needed no further encouragement.

His jaws snapped shut, severing skin and sinew, rupturing vessels and pulling hard to drag his blood up to the surface. An ecstatic moan escaped from Jonathan's chest. He had expected it to hurt, and it had. He had not expected to be such a barbaric delight. Every nerve leapt to life under his Skal's bite, singing their savage glee. Sean closed his lips around the wound and drank, his body arching with animal need, heaving against the meat between his teeth.  
  
Jonathan's heart awoke again, drawn to a ragged pulse by the cyclical shift as Sean fed. It was nothing at all like Geoffrey's bite. Sean's was clumsy, imperfect and passionate beyond human expression. As the blood overspilled, running down Jonathan's thumb and fingers, Sean released the pressure and chased it, laving away every trace with his eager tongue.  
  
It seemed that giving his own blood first had done a great deal to dilute the intoxication of Ekon blood. Sean was alert again, white eyes shining and bright. Reid released the cramp in his hand with a quick shake, sending a little blood to heal the wound.  
  
He was giddy, they both were. Sean's throat contracted involuntarily, making eager guttural noises as he pressed his lips against his Maker's once more, yielding entirely to the gravity between them. Yet despite that, Sean was glowing with embarrassment. That made no sense at first.  
  
Then Jonathan realised how thoroughly Geoffrey had broken him, and grinned, nibbling at Sean's ear. Sean's erection was pressing hard into his stomach, just as his own was pressing into the Skal's backside. Not so long ago, Jonathan had been civilised, embarrassed just like that.

He had long since shed his skin, just as Sean would.  
  
Purring, Jonathan simply rested his hands around Sean's hips and rocked him against his body. The little Skal gasped at the unaccustomed sensation, all but collapsing onto him.  
  
“We will go slowly,” Jonathan murmured into his ear. “And I will listen. I want you to speak if you are uncertain.” A deeper growl. “Tonight, I want to discover what your limits are.”

“Please.” Sean whimpered, giving voice in place of thoughts too lost in the pink haze.  
  
Sean pressed his warm face into the crook of his neck, and let Jonathan slip his hands inside his tunic to ease it away. Sean tried to help him. He was a little ungainly, inexperienced with the presence of another's hands inside his clothes. Jonathan's shirt followed, more easily. There was such temptation to simply tear the fabric away but... no, not with Sean.  
  
Sean spoke no words, but his blood was singing; a wordless plea, his composure lost to the absolute rapture of the moment, the animal need, the inhuman hunger. Jonathan answered gladly.

Suddenly, Sean went quiet.

Like a storm swell collapsing into flat calm, like a taught rope going slack, all became silent.

His thoughts dissipated, the fevered passion dimming down, gradually replaced by whispering, distant verses of scripture. Jonathan opened his eyes, not aware of having closed them.

Sean swallowed. He was holding his cross in his hands.  
  
It was not that he was unused to removing it; he did not sleep with it on. But the _reason_ mattered. If he removed it now, there would be no hiding from what he had wanted. If he did, would he ever be able to put it on again?

Jonathan listened and waited. Still, he reached up and brushed his fingers through Sean's soft beard, cupping them under his jaw, kneading the keratinous skin. He let him know that he did not have to choose, not yet.

The decision hung, like a spider on a thread of silk.

  
  



	11. To reflect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humanity intercedes between the man and the monster. An unintended interlude.

Sean shook his head, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.   
  
Jonathan caught them with a thumb, drifting gently over the skal's broken skin. Tenderly, he traced the hairline on the unblemished side of his face.  
  
“Shh.” He hushed, “It's quite alright, Sean.”

And it was. The beast needed nothing more, now that Sean had yielded, now that Sean was incontestably _his_. All else was simply animal lust.

Jonathan had been a gentleman before he ever became a monster. After the lust for blood and dominance, all other desires were meek by comparison. He was no mere puppet to animal instincts. He could and would subdue them, for now.

“Come.”

Jonathan rested his thumb against the crook of Sean's jaw and drew him close, to only kiss him, to only taste him again.

Pain.

Sudden and sharp at his chest. Singeing, like a lit cigarette. He flinched back, hissing, shoving Sean away. His other hand shot up to his chest, feeling the hard right angles of the burn.

The _**cross**_ _._

The cross had burned him.

His lips drew back in a snarl as he surged up. Claws sang out from his fingertips, hooking under the thong. His other hand closed hard around Sean's skull, holding him in place. Sean was _his_. God had no claim on him here.

“No!” Sean cried out, but froze helplessly under his Maker's grip. His complete submission gave Jonathan the luxury of thought. 

The luxury of stopping with his talons still between the cord and Sean's flesh. The luxury of thinking; _No._

No. Sean would not understand _why_ if Jonathan simply tore it away. The cross symbolised too much. He would cut the cord from Sean's neck when he chose, not before.

Yet his blood, his heart, his true monstrous nature did not care for such restraint. Anger rose in his throat and he wrestled with it, reminded again that for all his ruthless acquaintance with his blood, he was still a young Ekon. There was still so much he had not yet learned.

Carefully, mastering himself, he tried to tell Sean that he understood, that he was not angry. But he was and he could not. He was a vampire and his _progeny_ had turned a cross against him.  
  
He could not trust himself to speak.  
  
He only retracted the claws silently and eased Sean away from him as he stood, closing his eyes as he dressed. It did nothing to disrupt his other senses; the smell of Sean's body, his blood, the hammering of his heart.

 _Mine_.

His own anger, which would no longer be mastered. Jonathan consciously focused upon an examination of the rationale behind this drive, trying to win master through comprehension.

Sean drew a startled breath, throat audibly tightening as he tried to speak -   
  
“No, Sean.” The monster was in control of his voice, wrenching it down below his throat. “Not your fault. I am not angry with you.”   
  
But he was. Sean was his. Clinging to a cross that _burned_ him.

No. Logical thinking, only.

“I am only -” Jonathan fought to form the words he wanted, but instead said, “I will return.”

The savage growl made its way out of his head and into his throat; a warning rumble. Hand on the doorknob, claws itching to tear free from his nails, Jonathan still managed to growl, “Forgive me, Sean.” It came out like a command. “And be here when I return.”

***  
  
Jonathan kept off the main streets, head down, as he wrestled with his instincts. It was better to avoid people. He doubted he could pass for anything less than a monster right now.   
  
_'Logic is a false prophet'_ , Sean had rambled in the throes of fever, _'Faith is the only path to salvation'_

Even now, his Progeny was bound and shackled by that faith. It had served him well, once. Now, it only weighed him down.

_'Who am I to disobey His will?'_

Sean had been spared the war, thanks to the eternal misunderstanding over the official status of his ministry. But Jonathan hadn't. If God existed, his callousness was only exceeded by his sick sense of humour. Jonathan was an incarnate example of that. Logic was no less callous a master, but at least it spared the pretence.

There would be a logical explanation for the way it had burned him, he was sure of it. For now, all that mattered was regaining control of himself. It had been a long time since he had come this close, and that angered him too.  
  
It took a while, but eventually the anger unwound, replaced by utter weariness. The night had been long, and complicated. He no longer felt like hunting. He was only tired.  
  
Jonathan turned about and strode down the familiar alleys towards home. The walk had calmed him and he felt easy as he turned to head across the park. Sunlight was glittering on the frost-spiked snowdrops; a pretty sight he hadn't seen for some time.

Jonathan froze.   
  
He swore, coarsely enough that Geoffrey would have blushed.  
  
He had _never_ lost track of time before.

The house was no more than a hundred meters away, but the pale winter sun was already an impassable barrier. He could have leapt the distance but he wouldn't have the chance. Sunlight did more than burn. It was incapacitating. The moment he broke cover, he'd be helpless.   
  
It wouldn't _kill_ him, but once his charred corpse lay in the street, he'd be lucky if word didn't get back to Priwen. There were few of them left in London, but they would be there in a heartbeat with stake in hand. If not, then there was an abundance of alternative horrors which would have all day to find him. To wake in a grave, again...No, never again.

He turned around, moving quickly, shoving the instinctive panic back down. There must be another way around. But ten minutes circling the side-streets only left him more trapped than before.

Backing into the shadows of an alley, he gave up trying to calculate whether he could manoeuvre his coat to cover all his exposed skin. He had one option.   
  
It stung his pride more than a little. Still, it would be more foolish not to.

Difficult, in the midst of the rising sun, but he reached out along the softer notes. He called to Sean, trying to tell him where he was, and what he needed. He couldn't Visit him, so he'd have no idea if the Skal heard him. But, it was his only real hope.

***  
  


Sean truly was a Saint.   
  
He arrived looking ridiculous underneath one of Geoffrey's tattered coats, carrying the blankets from the bed. These, he helped Jonathan under, and together they fled back to the house. The frost reflected too much light for Jonathan to look, but Sean seemed able to manage.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Jonathan threw the blankets off onto the floor.

“I'm sorry.” He slurred, feeling heavy and foolish. “I didn't realise.”  
  
Sean was slower to shed his extra layers. Turning to look, Jonathan immediately dropped to a knee in front of him.   
  
“Let me see.” He guided the Skal's hands away from the burn across his face. The edges were ragged, shiny with embers. One eye was glazed cataract-white. Without thinking, he bit into his wrist and offered it. Sean took it gladly.

After that, the wound began to look a little less angry. Despite Sean's protestations, Jonathan hunted through his scattered supplies and administered a hasty mix of electrolytes and neutral lubricants to the damaged eye. Too many of Sean's injuries had not healed. This could not be one of them.   
  
***  
  
Sean had been so afraid, so _angry_ , after the doctor left. Afraid that he had driven him away, angry that he could **be** driven away, afraid that he had misjudged the doctor, afraid that he himself had been judged and found wanting once more.

Now, all Sean's fears evaporated before the frantic look in the doctors eye as he tended to injuries that would surely heal as he slept.   
  
At last, he succeeded in catching Dr Reid – Jonathan's – hand, and telling him, “I will be quite alright by tonight, Doctor. You are exhausted. Please, do not fret yourself on my account.”

Eventually, he managed to convince him that he need not reproach himself, so long as he did not make a habit of it. Jonathan gave a fatigued little laugh at that and promised that he did not intend to.

It was good to hear him laugh.

He guided the weary Ekon to the long couch and urged him to lie down. After a moment's hesitation, Sean removed his cross and folded it onto the little table, then climbed up after him and brought himself alongside.   
  
The doctor sighed and went utterly still.   
  
Sean laid his head under one long arm, and closed his eyes.   
  
***  
  
A dream.   
  
Except that Jonathan did not dream.   
  
Nevertheless, Elisabeth sprawled decadently across the bed, her long red hair teasing down over her neck as she slept. He was loathe to wake her. He only stood and admired as the dream slipped away into - 

Sean nuzzling into him, shivering. He was cold. Jonathan didn't feel the cold.

His tongue was a lead weight, but he managed to say, “By the door.”   
  
When Sean's confusion washed over him, he could only press his reassurances back into it, thinking of the blankets.

  
**  
  
Sunset.  
  
But barely.   
  
It was **too** **early.** Sean had collected the blankets, it seemed, and covered them both. Now, Sean was stirring again, gently moving Jonathan's arm aside so that he could slip out.

Jonathan might not suffer from cold, but he enjoyed the warmth Sean left behind. He was loathe to let him go. Still, he recalled that he ought to.   
  
He smiled as Sean carefully tucked him back in.   
  



	12. To let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Heaven and hell exist in other people, and so salvation may be found upon the earth." ~ Duke of Bath, circa 1920
> 
> Yet what dreams may come, when immortal hearts find peace.

Sean prayed. He did not believe that God sent signs to his servants, except to the prophets. Yet he gave his praise, and his thanks, and trusted the Lord to understand.

Dr Reid – Jonathan – slept on. Except, it wasn't quite like sleep. He didn't look dead as Sean had feared. There was a _presence_ about his body that was lacking in the departed. Yet, there were none of the signs of life; no breath, no heartbeat, no little twitching movements as he adjusted and re-settled himself.  
  
Then, quite suddenly, Jonathan was awake, sitting up languidly as though he had simply paused in the middle of doing something else.

And Sean's heart blossomed with love.  
  
“Good evening, Doctor.”  
  
“Evening, Sean.” The doctor extended his hand and beckoned. Sean came gladly. “Are you well?”  
  
“Perfectly well, doctor. Your blood is …” He wavered as the long fingers slid under his jaw. “Very potent.”  
  
Sean's knees felt weak. His skin flickered with little pulses of lightening where the doctor touched him. He was overwhelmed by it, seduced by it. He wanted to curl up before him, to lay himself beneath the protection of his Maker; this powerful creature who was still so human. Human enough to lose track of time only because he was _upset._

Jonathan chuckled. “I know. But I'm glad you're alright, all the same.”  
  
He felt like the lamb in the grip of the lion, overpowered but unafraid.  
  
Sean found himself slipping around the edge of the sofa. He wanted to surrender himself to this man, but he did not know _how._  
  
Sean sank to the floor, seating himself in front of his Maker with his back against the sofa. He knew he had done right when Jonathan's fingers caressed through his hair and he gave a soft, pleased growl. It felt good to please him. Sean wanted to, very badly.

“Will you,” Sean asked, tilting his head into Jonathan's hand, “Will you allow me to return to my shelter tonight?”  
  
He felt how badly the doctor did not want to. But he said, instead, “I will, if you wish it, Sean. But I would like it if you stayed a little longer. I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn't mind.”  
  
Sean could feel how much it taxed him to say it, to make these constant queries, give these endless permissions to defy his deeper wishes. Yet he persisted, and Sean's love for him grew.

Each kindness was a silver chain with which to bind a Skal. But Sean had already made his choice, in as clear a mind as he could at the time. If this was what those chains were made of, he did not mind that he would come to wear them gladly.  
  
“Thank you, doctor.”

Sean did not know how he did it, but he lifted the cross from his neck. The doctors hand ceased its caress and laid lightly upon his shoulder.

Jonathan would not harm him. This lion who had savaged a demon and driven it from the world would command him only with tenderness, with love. Jonathan protected things that he considered his own.

That which is born of love is not sin. That was the purpose of the covenant. Love, act in love and do not hold any creature or man above God, least of all thyself. That was all He asked.  
  
Reverently, Sean slipped out from beneath his Maker's hand folded his crucifix and his rosary on the little table. He whispered a prayer for His understanding, for His patience.

“May I.... may we...?” He faltered, though he smiled this time at his shortcoming. He didn't know the words. But that was alright.  
  
Jonathan stood and his presence loomed large behind Sean. Yet he was not afraid as he heard his Maker draw close. His hands were gentle, tender, as he took Sean's own.  
  
***  
  
Tonight, Jonathan had awoken to the sound of a heartbeat. The hunger had uncoiled, then resettled, content and purring, hearing the subtle notes in the blood between them.

Now, in that contentment, in complete control, Jonathan guided Sean back to the couch and sat him at its edge. His lips hovered softly above the pulse in Sean's neck, but he only kissed the broken skin and knelt down.

The Skal's heartbeat picked up, blood thrumming to Jonathan's delight.

He went slowly, easing Sean out of his tunic, reassuring him with light kisses. Sean tried to answer in kind. His knotted fingers struggled a little with Jonathan's buttons, but he accepted his help without embarrassment.  
  
Perhaps Sean had been startled by his own, unfamiliar lust last night. Now, that uncertainty was gone. As Jonathan peeled away his shirt, the little Skal laid slow kiss after tender kiss along his chest, utterly devoted to each and every one.

When Jonathan's nimble fingers opened Sean's collar though, his heart skipped and the Skal flinched, suddenly sheepish. Jonathan hissed softly, catching the adrenal tang of anxiety perfuming the air.

“Are you vain, Saint?” He scolded, teasing.  
  
“No, Dr Reid.” Sean muttered, as if willing it to be true.

Jonathan tutted. It was very clear that Sean was ashamed of his body. He would put a stop to that.  
  
But first... first he drew him back into a kiss, running his hand through Sean's hair, up and over to cup the back of his neck. Sean's warm tongue went questing for his fangs once more. The blood burst onto Jonathan's tongue like sweet nectar, twisting him around it. He growled his pleasure and Sean trembled anew.

Drawing back, Jonathan crooned seductively. “Then what do you have to fear?”  
  
“I – Nothing, doctor.”

Drifting his fingers along Sean's collarbone, Jonathan could understand why he was reluctant. The Skal's transformation had not been kind to him. The flesh was marked by closed lesions and keratosis, but it was also _warm_ , pinking under his touch as Jonathan's did not. His capillaries dilated and contracted; an endless song that was more seductive than the Skal would ever understand.  
  
“Call me Jonathan, Sean.” He commanded, as he twitched another button open, then another. He slid his hand beneath the fabric and brushed it away from his chest. Sean shivered as he traced along his breastbone, chasing the contours of his ribs to his spine, gliding down to the back hem of his trousers.  
  
Sean whimpered. “Yes, Jonathan.”  
  


**  
  
Dr Reid touched him with reverence greater than he deserved. Strong hands cupped his shoulders and shrugged the fabric away. For a moment, he felt exposed. Then the hands returned to skim along his ribs to the small of his back, wrapping him in goosebumps. He hadn't known it was possible to be touched this way, to feel such intimacy only from the butterfly weight of fingertips on skin.

Jonathan bent again to kiss him, and this time his mouth was filled with the taste of his Maker's powerful blood. Sean's stomach twisted and his heart leapt. He lost himself for a moment, unafraid, drawing every drop into his mouth along with Jonathan's tongue. How he wanted to bite down then, draw ever more into his broken body, to cleanse and purify his flesh.

But he could not.

He could not.  
  
For the longest time, they remained like this. The doctor never drew away, and the sensation never grew dull as his fingers roamed. Sometimes they drifted down his chest, sometimes along the underside of his arms. He knew that the doctor treasured him, even broken as he was. He belonged to Jonathan. He knew it completely, even if he did not yet understand it.

Sean's own hands traced the hard lines of the doctor's body until he realised that Jonathan was waiting, waiting _for him,_ giving him whatever time he needed.  
  
Oh. No, he couldn't... He didn't... Sean wanted... but he needed... he wanted...  
  
He cupped his hands around the strong back and pressed his forehead to the beautiful pale chest. The thoughts tumbled out through his lips, compulsive as a prayer, spilling his heart out with them.  
  
“Please. Command me.” The words felt blessed, releasing the weight upon his soul. “Compel me. I am yours.”

  
***  
  
Jonathan exhaled, releasing the terrible pressure in his chest as Sean let go of fear completely.  
  
Sliding his other hand around to cup Sean's back, he drew him up, hard against his body. Their first contact skin to skin, chest to chest. Cool vampire flesh against the warmth of Sean's racing pulse.  
  
“Thank you.” He growled darkly, sliding a claw under the Skal's chin to draw a thin trickle of blood.

Sean jerked his chin up, away from the sharp pain, eyes scrunching closed even as he whimpered his pleasure. Sean was not human either, not any more, and he surrendered utterly.  
  
The little Skal's growing erection pressed fiercely through the fabric of his trousers, into Jonathan's stomach, making him flinch back with a mortified little gasp.

“No, Sean.” He growled, “Don't close your eyes. Look at me.”

Sean's white eyes flickered open, and he did. Undisguised, as honest as he could ever be, Jonathan lowered his voice and whispered, “Are you sure you want to serve something like me?”

Sean gasped, breath choking as he said, desperately, “Yes.”

“Then you will.” He dipped down to run his long tongue under Sean's jaw and lap away the sweet rubies of drying blood. They popped in his mouth like sugar crystals.  
  
Straightening up, Jonathan pulled him close again, enticing Sean with the soft friction of his cock against his own hard stomach. Sean started in surprise, jerking up. The Skal was ashamed; so ashamed of what he wanted. He always had been, of course. But it had never stopped the wanting.

“You are precious to me, Sean.” Jonathan told him, as he began to move him more rhythmically, rolling his own body into the contact. “William might have infected you, but I **made** you what you are.”

Sean shuddered against him, incapacitated by the unaccustomed intensity, hypnotised by the weight of the words. Breaking away, Jonathan whispered, into his ear. “Undress.”  
  
Jonathan took his own advice, slipping out of his trousers and kicking them away. Sean obliged, hasty and still ashamed. Even after he had removed his trousers, he held the fabric, bunched at his groin, covering himself.

“Sean.” Jonathan chided lovingly, sitting back. The Skal's hand twitched briefly, but he still couldn't find the courage. His brilliant eyes went everywhere, searching for something to look at that wasn't Jonathan's naked body.  
  
Jonathan smiled. “Come here, Sean.”

Sean obeyed, awkwardly, keeping his eyes down.  
  
“Sit, Skal, and look at me.”  
  
Ensnared by the dance of the blood beneath his skin, Jonathan ran his hands up along Sean's body and kissed him again. He kept kissing him, trying to draw the tension out of him. His poor Skal was lost in the uncertainty of not knowing what to do, only knowing that he wanted to do it.  
  
Everything Sean felt, he felt absolutely. Now, Sean wanted. He wanted more than anything.

Going slowly, Jonathan took Sean's hand and guided it to his cock. Dear God, but to be touched at last by his Sean would be gratifying enough. Yet the intensity went beyond even that, as all of Sean's desperate, suppressed longing leapt across the barrier. His earnestness made that simple touch a delight; as electric as his bloodied kiss.  
  
He growled, softly, far more gently than he ever did with Geoffrey. “You are mine, Sean.”

His Skal thrilled to hear it, whimpering wordless agreement.  
  
He drew Sean's hand down and up in long, slow strokes, relishing the rough friction of the calloused palms. Sean murmured, wordlessly, drawing shuddering breaths and carrying on as Jonathan withdrew his hand to lay it over the one Sean was using to cover his 'shame'. Despite the building pressure under Sean's enthusiastic caress, he mastered himself enough to test the waters of the Skal's thoughts. All was well.

“Let me.” Jonathan commanded gently, brushing past Sean's clenched hand and under the bunched fabric, seeking, finding.

Jonathan cupped Sean's warm member gently, gliding the palm of his hand back and forth underneath. Sean fell against him, gasping at the shock of contact. After a moment, Sean resumed his rough grip, as his strokes became firmer, growing more confident. His other hand released its hold on the trousers, and they fell away.

Jonathan rewarded Sean with a soft growl and all of Sean's hesitation drowned under the sound. An echo of it reached Jonathan, as his nerves hummed with the gratification of pleasing his Maker.

This would be enough, for now, Jonathan decided.

He trailed his fingers up along the shaft, then circled, seeking out Sean's sensitive spots, judging them by the little gasps and pleading whimpers his Skal made. Then he wrapped his hand around again, and brought it more vigorously down, curling fingers against those points. Sean cried out and fell still, all his mind taken by it. Then he breathed hard, steadied himself and tried to imitate it.

He was clumsy. Jonathan didn't care. His enthusiasm was everything. Not only in his actions, but in his own leaping heart; a tapestry of sensation and surprise that rolled across the barrier into Jonathan's own.

Sean's lips became inattentive as all his thoughts focused on Jonathan's stiffness under his hand, the little thrusts his Maker made in pleasure at his touch. The pleasure _he_ created, the pleasure _he_ was causing. The iron bar hardening further under his hand.

The thoughts flickered into Jonathan's mind like candles dancing in the wind.

 _He was weak._ Overwhelmed, thinking of nothing but the points of contact. _He could not stop_. He did not want to stop. He was twitching helplessly into Jonathan's hand, into his Maker's hand, _into his Master's hand.  
  
_ Sean began to whisper; a tiny uncontrollable torrent of self-recrimination. Jonathan kissed him again. When he was forced to break off, groaning under Sean's devoted caress, the muttered recriminations had shifted pleasingly, falling to words of reverence and sin and want, becoming ever more indecipherable as his eyes unfocused. The little skal rutted eagerly against Jonathan's palm as his voice took on a helpless, whimpering cadence.  
  
Sean's orgasm crept up along Jonathan's skin, along across his nerves like rolling flame. The release gushed into his heart, blossoming in his chest even before it bloomed under his Maker's hand, taking the Skal utterly by surprise. Jonathan felt it with him as Sean shook, startled and gasping. The warm fluid throbbed out of him, spilling across Jonathan's palm and over the blankets.  
  
Sean wavered for a moment but Jonathan clamped his hand around Sean's, dragging it down hard and fast as he chased his release. The strokes had Sean whimpering, eager, coaxing him wordlessly, begging him, pleading with him. His tongue found Jonathan's fangs again and the dark, earthly taste hit the back of his throat.  
  
Jonathan erupted into Sean's grip, clenching around him as he poured himself out. A rolling liquid pulse; pure and peaceful, heightened by the symphony of Sean's veins dilating in his grasp.

Jonathan rewarded his Skal with a long, satisfied growl.  
  


***  
  
Later, Sean did not allow himself to hesitate as he slipped the cross around his neck. Afterwards, he waited; waited to feel the weight of shame; waited to feel _different_. But he did not, he was still himself. Only much lighter than he had been.

Dr Reid kissed his neck and said, “Come on Sean, I'll walk back with you.”  
  
***  
  
Snow had started to fall. Sean had been buoyant, turning his face up into it as they walked. It warmed Jonathan's heart. Perhaps Geoffrey had been right about them needing to sort this out without him. Still, he felt a small pang of regret that he was not here to share it.  
  
The shelter glowed, warm and welcoming. Sean looked pained when Jonathan told him that he could not stay and why. He had deferred too long. He needed to hunt.

Later, he composed letters to some of his past colleagues, enquiring about the Spanish Flu virus. After a further thought, he added similar enquiries regarding rabies. Sean's case was unusual, and it seemed there was little hope of isolating the mutated strain from his blood alone. He needed more to go on. Saliva was the obvious alternative vector.

When sunrise came, Jonathan disdained the bed. He simply rested back and let himself droop in the chair, at his desk, his mind filled with chemical formulae and calculations.

  
***  
  


Another dream, if dreams they were.  
  
Elisabeth slept, curled around herself, looking peaceful and content upon the white sheets. He missed her, but it was better that she slept. Still, Jonathan could not stop himself from approaching this time. When he kissed her lips, his mouth filled with blood.  
  



	13. To serve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected"

Sean treasured each of the doctor's fleeting visits. Every night, it seemed, he would sense him somewhere nearby. Most nights, he did not come to the door but only drifted away again, off on whatever business he had.

Four nights after the one he had spent with him, Dr Reid had appeared outside the shelter with Mr White in hand. Almost _literally_ in hand, for the man more-or-less dangled drunkenly as Dr Reid passed him across the threshold. Apparently, he had been passing out in the snow. He would have likely been dead by morning.

The doctor had not smelled of death and blood, and Sean's love blossomed anew when he realised what that must mean. Though the doctor had surely been out hunting to have stumbled across Mr White, he had kept his word. He had declined to prey upon Sean's flock, even far from the shelter. Upon recognising Mr White, he had brought him home to be warmed – and a little chastised – by the stove. Sean stayed up with him, all through the sunrise as the man sobered and sobbed and challenged a few of his demons.   
  
Before he tucked himself in to his narrow cot, he promised himself that he would go to see Doctor Reid tomorrow, to thank him.   
  
**   
  


As Sean laid his rosary down on the table, Jonathan approached behind him once more, cupping his long fingers against the back of his neck.

“Are you mine, Sean?” Jonathan asked.   
  
“Yes.” Sean whispered.   
  
“Will you serve me?”

_Whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected._

“I serve God.” Breathlessly, ecstatically. “Yet after God, I serve you.”   
  
“Then come, Sean.”

This time, he did not hesitate to remove his shirt. His Master rewarded him for it by taking time over his body, kissing him in the unlikeliest places; between his shoulder blades, below his navel, under the weak folds of his chest muscle.   
  
He knew how much his Master enjoyed rewarding him, and did all he could to achieve it. When he told him how much his mouth pleasured him when he fed, Sean blushed, but only because he had never known it before.   
  
His Master told him that if he ever he wanted to feed, he need only lay two fingers alongside the place, and he would open it for him.   
  
“And if I should wish to bite?” It was so _easy_ to ask his Master this. He hadn't known it could be.  
  
“Then you must wait for my command, Skal.”

This time, when his Master undressed and lay naked before him, Sean wanted to do more than hold his iron manhood in his hands. He laid his fingers alongside his Maker's chest muscle and Dr Reid pierced the spot with his talons.   
  
The scent was euphoric. Sean bent to it, feeling that his tongue was a traitor no longer. Now, it was an instrument he could play, a tool to secure his Maker's pleasure. As the blood seeped onto his tongue, he lapped gently, trying to restrain. A long, cool hand slid softly beneath his stiffening cock, drawing it up with long caresses.

Oh, but God forgive him, it was rapturous.

With love in his heart, he bent his head to the cut, and drew long from the offered elixir as he rocked into his Master's caress. A cool and rising pressure, arriving suddenly beneath him, told him how greatly he approved.   
  
Sean wanted to share this incomparable pleasure. Unable to draw his lips away, except with the greatest effort of will, he tilted his forehead to touch his Maker's cool flesh. His throat made small, hungry sounds he did not mean, giving voice to the ecstasy consuming his body. He drew in the clean, clinical scent of him and compelled his lips to desist.   
  
His Maker drew him up, and kissed him, soothing him, hearing him as only he and God could.

“You must ask, Skal.” His Master chided him, “I will not, if you do not ask.” His voice became a growl so deep it vibrated in Sean's chest. “But I will, if you do.”

Very slowly, fearing that he might not have understood, fearing obscurely that he might yet reject the notion as obscene, Sean rested two fingers against the pillar of his Maker's cock and all the blood that lay within.

Of course, he knew all the callous words and cruel slang, but they felt too crude for what he wanted. He wanted to feel his Master arch in pleasure, and lose himself in the pleasure of doing so.   
  
He had never wanted to do it before, not as he did now.

**

“Oh, my precious Skal.” Jonathan whispered, drawing Sean's lips to his again as he eased his rough hand away and took his own cock between his claws. Monster, he may be, but he was a man as well. He was naturally reluctant to do himself any great injury, but Sean wouldn't need much

Of _course,_ he had thought of it. Ever since he had given himself permission to think of Sean in such terms. It had been agony not to command it. Even after he'd heard Sean's desire, he'd had to be _excruciatingly_ careful not to hint at how much he would like it. It would have been too easy to do. Sean would have agreed immediately, if only to please him.

He would teach his Progeny not to fear his body, or his own. To do that, he must be patient. These first boundaries could only be crossed by willing steps.

Drawing his claws up in a light, twisting motion, he hissed at the sting of hairline cuts along his skin. Painful, in a way he did not normally seek out. Smiling, licking at the inside of Sean's mouth, he knew it wouldn't hurt much longer.  
  
Sean was already reacting. His body stiffened and his white eyes flashed open. He shuffled back, suddenly wanton, his hunger and Jonathan's permission giving him the confidence to take what he so wanted.

As Sean's warm tongue lapped up from the base of his cock, every line of pain inverted, flinging itself to the opposite extreme. It was merciless to be so anticipated, so _desired._ He let himself lie back as Sean dabbed the blood away with his tongue; little pulses of liquid warmth bursting on his skin.

Then Sean closed his lips, sideways, around the shaft. His scraggly beard teased against Jonathan's balls. His upper lip pursed against the ever-receptive slip of skin by his frenulum.   
  
“Not there, Skal. Higher.”   
  
Testing, seeking, he adjusted and closed his lips there instead. His warm tongue lapped into the dip at the neck of his glans and Jonathan released a long, rapturous breath. Stroking his Skal's tender head, floating his fingertips over the broken skin and lesions, he whispered.   
  
“Yes. There.”   
  
His Skal murmured sweet contentment and began to draw. Jonathan arched, letting his fangs sing down with the languid pleasure. As Sean drew, and swallowed, and drew again, Jonathan felt as though he was thrusting deep into the heart of something warm and rolling and visceral.

He rose with pleasure as the blood stretched, languished the slow descent when he released, then rose again with the next draw. His hands fell away from Sean as the sensation overwhelmed him.   
  
He lay for a long time in that luxury of rhythm, as Sean's tongue caressed and probed, keeping the sharp lines of pleasure open so that he might feed.

When the pressure had grown too great, he reluctantly moved Sean's head aside and drew him up to his lips. He slid one hand back around Sean's sensitive member, drawing out long and persuasive strokes. With the other, he attended to himself roughly. With his mouth, he received Sean's lips and tongue. With his fangs, he teased the dark and glorious eddies of mingled blood into his body.   
  
With a whimper, he came. A blossoming orgasm that hit him like a bullet, ricocheting and rolling onwards and onwards like an echoing gunshot. His stomach cramped as he spent himself in luxurious waves. Sean joined him in the pleasure; the release; the gentle, unfolding ecstasy.

Then, Sean laid his soft head on his chest as they both lay back.

For the first time, Jonathan felt truly peaceful. The hunger was there, waiting. Yet the sharp-edge felt dull, soothed and blunt beneath the calming embrace. For a little while, he let himself rest.   
  


**  
  
McCullum stooped to check the tank tracks. They were months old; scarred deep into the ground before the end of the war. Sometimes, he regretted evading the draft. He hadn't really meant to, but no-fixed-abode came with liberties as well as liabilities.

Tanks were not common, thank god. McCullum supposed that when war was fought with machines rather than men, it might just be judgement day after all. Still, he sometimes wondered; had Reid ever faced down one of the hulking metal behemoths? Did he even remember it, if he had, or was it part of what he was trying to drown in the tide?  
  
Still, that wasn't what _he_ was there for. No, the tracks he followed were lighter, dancing through the torn up ground. She had gone too lightly to leave a trace, but her beasts did. They were usually stealthy bastards; well trained by their master. Yet here, the broken ground had yielded all too readily beneath the clawed feet.   
  
The inside of the print was dry. They had come through here _tonight_ , after the dew had settled.   
  
McCullum allowed himself a fang-filled smile, and checked his ammunition.   
  
_It's about bloody time._ He thought, as the hunger rose.   
  
***

Sean remained a little longer tonight, taking a seat on the floor beside Jonathan's chair as he worked. He hadn't asked him to. Still, it was a welcome companionship. After a while, Sean rested his head on his leg, radiating warm serenity.

Jonathan was convinced now that what he was looking for was a virus; too small to be seen through his microscope, perceptible only in the way it subverted the natural actions of the cells to its purpose. His own Ekon cells were resistant to it but Sean's were not.

It was a nice change to explain his work aloud as he went. Sean listened like a giant ear, occasionally asking questions. He understood little more than Geoffrey did but he tried. Occasionally, Jonathan would sit back and run his fingers through the Skal's wiry hair. He found it helped him think.

Now and then, Sean made small, murmuring sounds of utter contentment.   
  
**

  
Another night. Geoffrey had been gone for a week and a half. When the hard press of the amulet did not block him, Jonathan Visited him, reassuring himself of his Progeny's well-being.   
  
Sean came to visit in the small hours of the morning. This time, they forwent any sexual intimacy, simply settling into an easy and serene companionship. Jonathan worked, while Sean sat beside him and rested his head against his leg.  
  
Jonathan was becoming frustrated with the enigma of Sean's blood. More specifically, he was becoming frustrated with the enigma of what Sean _was_. He began to think he would need to hunt down Old Bridget again. He could hope that she would oblige him with a sample, in the circumstances.

Jonathan made a few quick notes, his conclusions on the night's work thus far. Then he laid the pen down and sat back, playing his fingers through Sean's hair, finding his own peace in the answering murmur.

“Sean,” He said after a moment. “I am curious. I know you think you are in a state of Purgatory. What does that mean?”

Sean shifted, unsettled. “I apologise. But that is between me and God, Dr Reid.”  
  
“Perhaps God disagrees,” Jonathan chuckled, “Since he's allowed me to know of it.”  
  
Sean straightened instantly, sitting up and turning, his brow creasing with anger.

“Do not blaspheme, Dr Reid. If you were a man of faith, I might consider your words well intended. But please do not presume to know the Lord's will simply to make a clever argument.”   
  
The beast stirred a little at that, but the greater part of him welcomed the assurance that Sean's pious spirit was alive and well. His obedient Skal was not, would never be, entirely broken to him.

“A fair point, Sean. I retract it. But, I would like to understand you better.”

“You are well suited to your nature, Dr Reid.” Sean smiled warmly, almost daring to chide him as he laid his head back down; a motion that once again bared his throat and yielded him to his Maker. “And I thank you.”

The beast rumbled in his chest, softly, content to run his fingers behind Sean's sensitive ears. In the duality of Saint and Sinner, Sean's Maker only had claim over one of them. Jonathan recognised it, even if his inner monster did not.

 _And long may it last._ He thought.

  
**  
  
Geoffrey threw his head back as the last of the beast-mistress's blood settled in his throat.   
  
It had been _distressingly_ easy. Exhilarating, yes. Challenging, yes. But taxing? Not at all. He'd never admit it to the bastard, but his fights with Reid had ruined his perspective. He'd thought his Maker was getting slow but, no, apparently Geoffrey had been getting faster.

God, he was so powerful it _still_ gave him shivers. The fuck had Reid inflicted on the world, when he'd Made him?  
  
At least he was still a Hunter, not just a Killer. He'd go mad if this was all the challenge there was. But the Hunt was still where he belonged. She'd done well there. Shame it hadn't be enough.   
  
He took the heads off to make sure, and started on the long walk back to Priwen's camp.  
  
***


	14. To return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunter comes home  
> (Oh go on, have some proper smut)

A few nights later and the cold was at last giving way to a hint of spring. In the quiet hours, Sean permitted himself to go to the doctor's side again, letting the lantern of his presence guide him through the cobbled streets.  
  
This would not be a night for peaceful contemplation, however. Jonathan was already dressed and preparing to leave when Sean arrived.  
  
Chucking him under the chin, Jonathan apologised, “I need to collect some medical correspondence from Pembroke. I won't be long, but I'll be faster if you don't travel with me.”

That was no trouble. It made Sean happy to do some small tasks while he was gone. He had not realised before how much of the doctor's time was occupied with investigating his treatment. It was the least he could do to ease the burden.  
  
After a few minutes, Sean settled upon cleaning the bedsheets. Dr Reid was a physician and hygiene remained his unwavering habit so the coal fire washing machine was one of their few utilities. Unfortunately, its use was utterly arcane to him.

Undeterred, he simply relied on the familiar hand-crank to agitate the bedclothes. The mechanism creaked and complained with disuse, so loudly that he did not hear the door at first.  
  
When it closed with a slam he paused, smiling in expectation of his Maker's return. Yet, it was not Dr Reid. Dr Reid's presence was still distant.  
  
He jerked his head up.

“Hello, _Séan_.” McCullum grinned, lounging in the door-frame to the kitchen. He seemed bright-eyed, re-invigorated. His coat was rather worse for wear though, rent at the shoulder.  
  
“Welcome home, Geoffrey!” Sean beamed and rose to his feet. “I apologise. I didn't know I should have expected you tonight.”

“I wasn't sure I'd make my boat, and Himself would only get broody if I was late,” He spread his palms, smiling roguishly. “So I just didn't tell him.”

Sean nodded. “He does worry for you.”  
  
“I know.” McCullum's tone softened and he looked a little embarrassed. Then he asked, gently, “Are you living here now, Sean?”  
  
Mortified, Sean replied at a rush. “Oh, no, Geoffrey. I'm only visiting. Dr Reid has gone to the hospital for supplies. I thought this,” He indicated the washing machine, “Might help a little.”

McCullum looked thoughtful, but said, “Thank you, Sean. And how are you? Has he been decent?”  
  
Sean blushed furiously, and tried to stammer out an explanation that would not hurt Mr McCullum. For all Jonathan's reassurances, adultery was a sin because of the wounds it could inflict on others. But McCullum only laughed.  
  
“Turn down the heat, Saint. So long as he's been kind to you, that's all I care about.”  
  
Sean felt a little anger blossom then; indignation at being treated again as if he were made of glass. Geoffrey McCullum, of all men, knew better than that. Yet, that resentment was unworthy of him, of a man so charitable with his happiness.

“Yes,” Sean said quietly instead, “He has been very kind.”

They both looked up and turned towards the door at the same time, as the ethereal sense of Dr Reid's presence drew rapidly closer. Chuckling, Geoffrey returned to the main room and Sean followed, helping him carry his bags away from the door.

Sean could only sigh in exasperation. If Sean knew that Dr Reid was only a few streets away, Geoffrey must have known too. If he had only waited, he could have embraced him at the threshold. Instead, Geoffrey began to open his bags, and check over the contents. Weapons, mostly, enough to have his hands full when Dr Reid arrived.

“Dishonesty is a poor skill to practise, Mr McCullum.” He chided.

The big man only nodded. “It keeps him humble, Saint.”

Sean heard the door swing wide behind him, and turned to catch his Maker's wide smile of delight.  
  
“Geoffrey.” Jonathan purred, his voice thick with desire. His exultant expression made Sean long to touch him, to feel a little of what it was like to love someone like that. Instead, he moved back, giving them their space.

“Evening, beast.” Geoffrey said formally, turning away to carefully hook the crossbow at its place on the wall, taking **excessive** time to seat it properly.

Even so, Sean could hear the smile in his voice. He felt suddenly like an intruder on this private moment. Even more so, when Dr Reid stalked across the room, closed his strong hand on Geoffrey's shoulder and dragged him into a kiss.  
  
McCullum dropped the pretence then. Their hands rose. Jonathan's clenched over Geoffrey's heart and against his shoulder, drawing him close. McCullum's settling on the doctor's hips, under his coat. They cleaved to one another and the alluring scent of Ekon blood saturated the air.  
  
Sean's throat tightened and he shrank back a little more, forcing himself to, knowing that his hunger was inappropriate here. He needed to leave. To give these men their privacy. But God help him, he couldn't move.  
  
McCullum drew back, running his tongue over his lips and firing a scalding look at Jonathan. The intoxicating aroma lessened, then began to dissipate. Jonathan only grinned back into the glare, full-fanged and – as Sean now knew – aroused.

***  
  
 _That's not fair on him, beast._ Geoffrey pressed back into Jonathan's ardour. He could feel Reid in his head and practice made it easy to lay the thought out for him to find.

 _He doesn't mind_ , Jonathan insisted, releasing the hold on Geoffrey's shirt to slide down under his coat and cup his arse. _He wonders about us, you know._

 _What happened to 'not that kind of monster'?_ McCullum snarled.

_I got to know him better._

No need to form the words. Geoffrey let his disbelief speak for itself. Aloud, he said, “It's only been a fortnight.”  
  
“Perhaps I can be efficient when I wish to be.” Reid purred back. Even so, he acceded to Geoffrey's reluctance and withdrew his hands as well as his presence from his mind.

Geoffrey chuckled, impressed. Reid was exhibiting none of the control over Geoffrey that he normally did simply by habit. He seemed... vital, almost.

_Well, maybe Sean's been a better influence than I expected. No harm in that._

“I brought you a souvenir.” He said instead, pulling the case from his breast pocket and passing it over. It contained all the blood samples he had been able to get. “Assuming I did it right, that's one leech and one of her beasts. The other one didn't last long enough.”

Reid took it with a smile and opened it, inspecting the capsules. “Exactly what I wanted, Hunter. Thank you.”  
  
By now, Sean had gotten enough of a grip on himself to look away. Seeing the poor man's distress, McCullum wanted to smack Reid, but his Maker caught the thought.  
  
Without turning his body one inch, Reid's free hand snapped out and closed crushingly around Geoffrey's wrist. He was still looking at the case. The gesture had been almost off-handed, contemptuous.  
  
Geoffrey felt his own hunger rise, unbidden, even after Jonathan let go, even as the bones knitted. There was the beast, after all. Just under the surface.  
  
 _I haven't_ _ **gone**_ _anywhere, Geoffrey._ The thoughts came, clear and sharp as knives into his mind, riding a heady note within his blood. The truth of it was plain in the taste. “ _ **I**_ have always been civilised when circumstances allow.”

Sean was scurrying away to the bare kitchen, oblivious to the unspoken parts of their conversation. After a few moments, Geoffrey could hear him pulling the sheets out, feeding them into the press.

 _Like a good little slave._ McCullum thought, simmering. Now that he was further out of earshot, Geoffrey stepped close to whisper harshly in Reid's ear.

“When was the last time he went back to his shelter?”  
  
“He was there tonight. He came to see me. I haven't broken him, Geoffrey. I wouldn't.” Reid's eyes, though no less monstrous, were softer as he finally turned to look at him. “He is my progeny too.”  
  
“So is Swansea, and that hasn't stopped you.”  
  
It was the wrong thing to say. Reid's eyes grew hard and his hand shot out again, closing around Geoffrey's throat this time. All the absent control came back with a vengeance, forcing him down.

Still, he could speak. So he said, “Too close to the bone, leech?”

“I thought you **despised** Swansea.” Reid snarled.

“I do. Not the point though, is it?”  
  
Geoffrey saw the first real change then. Jonathan _hesitated,_ reconsidering. Then, he let go his hold and let him up.  
  
“Go and speak with him then,” His Maker said, contemplatively. “Reassure yourself while I take these upstairs.”

***

Sean worked the sheets through the press. As soon as they were dry enough to hang, he'd leave and give the men their privacy. It only felt too much like neglect to soak the sheets and not dry them, simply because Geoffrey had returned.

It was a distressing situation. Dr Reid could not have warned Sean, because he had not known. His lover could not have known that Dr Reid needed to know, because he had not known about Sean.

No one was at fault. Forgiveness was not needed. It was better just to hang the sheets, and head home as he ought.

“Sorry about that, Sean. That wasn't fair on you.”

Sean jerked his head up, so lost in thought that he hadn't realised McCullum had come to join him again.  
  
He smiled at the man's apology, “There is nothing to apologise for. This is the first time you have been away. If I had known, I would have left before you arrived.”  
  
The big man drew a heavy sigh. He often did when he was distressed. Breathing was not native to him and had been deliberately re-adopted. It often reflected his thoughts more than for most men. “I meant about the blood. I ought to have stopped to think.”  
  
“Oh,” He looked back down, turning the crank again and speaking over it. “I am less hungry these days. It no longer holds such sway over my reason.” He paused, feeling that he owed the man a little honesty for being so charitable with his own happiness, “It is only embarrassing, if truth be told, that I am not already in better control of my... wants.”

“Does he feed you his blood often?”

Sean glanced up, becoming aware of an unexpected tension in the other man. “Surely... that is a private matter, Mr McCullum. But yes, he does.”

“I'm worried about you, Sean.” There was a growl beneath the words. “I know what he's like. It's all about control, with him.”  
  
Despite himself, Sean scowled, digging his gnarled fingers into the cloth as he pulled it through into the rack. “I am perfectly well, I assure you. Your fears are founded in many years of hunting our kind, but they do not apply here.”

“Sean, you're doing our damned laundry.”

The words hurt.

Sean stopped working, and instead asked God to grant him peace. If not peace, then perspicacity. He took a slow breath and said, gently, “Because I wished to help a friend, who spends so many nights labouring on my behalf and seldom looks after himself. I am no blood doctor, nor a hunter of monsters, but I **can** clean the sheets. We all do what we can.”

McCullum looked ashamed. Sean recognised it, and forgave the man, thanking God for his aid.

“Shit, Sean. I'm sorry. I just didn't expect you to be so...” He waved his hand, searching for the word.

“Forthcoming?” Sean offered.

McCullum laughed. “Aye. Not the word I was looking for but, it'll do.”

Turning the crank again, feeding the sheets through the press, Sean sought to first understand and then explain. Geoffrey McCullum had spent his life protecting innocents from what he perceived to be monsters. He was a good man, only fearful for a friend he cared for.

“I have served my fold for many years, and I will continue to serve them for a long time now, perhaps until the Day of Judgement.” He began, “When I was a man, I had to rest, often. I needed that rest to endure.”  
  
The sheets now pressed through, Sean lifted the bucket and poured the water out into the drain. It should have been a hard task; heavy and awkward for a man of his size and build. Yet, he did it with complete ease.

He hoped that Geoffrey noted that.

As he fed the sheets through again, he went on. “I am not perfect, Mr McCullum. No one but God is. We are all sinners. I have been granted the energy to attend my flock without need for rest. I sometimes rise during the daylight when I am needed. Is it so wrong for me to sometimes take the quietest and safest hours of the night, for a little personal happiness to sustain me through hardship?”  
  
The sheets went through quickly on their final press and were dry enough to hang.

“Of course not, _mo chara_.” McCullum relented. “But we aren't like you. You don't always know what's going on with us, under the surface.”

“If that is truly your belief,” Sean said, “Then why press me so to seek him out? I agree with your sense of urgency over it, and your points are as true now as they were then. I am needed here. Although,” He smiled, blushing. “I am more grateful for it than I expected.”  
  
***  
  


_Shit._

Reid had heard it. Geoffrey felt the familiar tickling of his anger, his creeping control.  
  
Until now, his Maker had likely had no idea that McCullum had set this whole thing off. The Hunter might be able to get away with a lot more since that night at the dock. He might even seem a little more human tonight. But Reid was a long, long way from redemption, and he was still a monster, still his Maker.  
  
He had pushed them together. It oughtn't have mattered. It should have been the kind of thing Reid expected of him; the kind of thing he could take in stride whether it had worked or not. But he hadn't expected to come home to _this_ ; the obvious affection Sean had for the beast.

The possibility that Sean's willingness to approach him had been no more than a product of his Progeny's machinations... God, how much must that _rankle_ in the monster's craw. It didn't matter how good his intentions were. It would be too much for the beast to tolerate.

“Sean,” He said quickly, “Forgive me. I was an arse.”  
  
“You know I do, Mr McCullum.” Sean smiled.  
  
Reid was coming downstairs, but slowly. He was listening, and he knew that McCullum knew he was. There was no need to roar, or rush. He could take his time.

What McCullum needed to say to Sean, he needed to say quickly.

“I'm sorry I pressured you anyway. I treated you like a damn Skal from the start, even if I didn't mean to.” He stopped, choking on a dawning realisation. “But... you knew that, didn't you? You tried to fend me off at the beginning.”  
  
Sean nodded, “I know you have spent much of your life hunting our kind, but I knew Skals personally. I may be newly Turned, but I was forewarned.”

Reid reached the bottom of the stairs, visible out of the corner of McCullum's eye. Reid had rooted Geoffrey's feet to the spot, like a rabbit before a stoat. Bloody bastard.

“Still, I'm sorry I got you into this.”  
  
“Please don't be, _mo_ _chara.”_ No matter what else what at play here, Geoffrey was glad to see the sincerity in the Skal's bright eyes as he looked up and smiled, “I'm not.”  
  
Reid threw McCullum against the wall.  
  


***  
  
“Oh _Geoffrey_ ,” Reid hissed, smiling. “Nowyou're a proper leech.”  
  
The truth of the words stung his Hunter,

Yet, if he hadn't schemed to bring them together, Jonathan wouldn't _have_ Sean. Not like he did.

It had been a stubborn and foolhardy thing to do. Geoffrey would always fight him, especially for control. He should have expected no less. It might only have been two weeks, but he had so missed that.

However, the shadow of his first transgression with Sean lingered over it, overweighting the innocent intentions with subtle rebellion. He could not afford to let it slide. Still, he need not be... callous. What better way to restore the balance than to show Geoffrey how little encouragement Sean had actually needed?

With his claws around his progeny's throat, holding him passive under the bonds of blood, he reached out a hand to Sean. He didn't beckon, didn't call. He only stood with his fingers loose, inviting him to take it.

Sean didn't hesitate. His warm hand settled along the knuckles. The pale eyes closed for a moment, as he drank in everything Reid felt, learning what his Maker would like to do.  
  
Reid drew his hand back. Never looking away from Geoffrey's eyes, he said, “It's your choice, Sean. If you would not like to, then you can leave now, and you should.” With a civilised smile, full of fangs, he added, “I shall hang the sheets later. Thank you for that.”

Sean drew a small breath, then turned and padded away. He felt Geoffrey relax a little; his concern and guilt subsiding now that Sean was going home.  
  
 _Wait_. Jonathan slid into Geoffrey's thoughts, _Watch.  
  
_ Jonathan had been fascinated by the subtle and symbolic little ritual. Sean had devised it himself, to divide his 'sinful' needs from his Saintlier self. It was a recognition of his own duality that allowed him to grant himself permission to let go, just for now. Jonathan had never heard of its like, but he intended to explore it further, in time.

When Geoffrey tensed, Jonathan knew that Sean had lifted his rosary over his head, and folded it reverently on the little table.  
  
“He might be a Saint,” Jonathan hissed mockingly, “But that's not all he is.”  
  
The collapse inside Geoffrey was beautiful to behold, hinting at old guilts and fears he had since put aside. Geoffrey had meant to draw Reid back up. Instead, he had dragged the Saint down with them.  
  
Of course, that wasn't true. Geoffrey still didn't understand yet.  
  
Even so, even despite himself, Geoffrey was not the man he had once been. His own perverse nature welled up, filled with dark temptation and hunger. A nature carefully suppressed during his hunt with Priwen that was now clamouring for release.

“Sean,” He purred, commanding but without force. “Put that table by the wall. I don't want to knock it over.”

When he heard the soft scuff and creak and knew that Sean's rosary would be safely out of the way, he smiled. He let Geoffrey _feel_ him pushing aside his subtle illusion, let him feel the deep longing induced by the sight the Hunter's beautiful, blood-soaked blue eyes. Then he leaned in and took Geoffrey's bottom lip between his teeth.  
  
At last, he let the Hunter go, and let him fight back.

***  
  
Sean stood by the wall, folding his hands together and watching, unable to look away even if he had wished to. And he did not.

They were a whirlwind together. Too fast to follow. Two skittering bursts of shadow that crashed together into the dark forms of vampires grappling, then broke apart again. Metal sung as one of them – probably McCullum – wrenched a small axe from the wall and brought the vicious blade into their fight. A moment later, as the storm moved, a dagger spun out from it and skittered across the floor. Sean hadn't seen that taken up.

But the sweet aroma of Ekon blood seeped into the air. He panted, but held still.

With a thunderous crash, they slammed into another wall. Geoffrey was on the outside, pinning Dr Reid to the wall with the blade to his throat. Sean felt a stab of fear, and wondered if he ought to do something. But then he saw that Reid's hand was fully inside the other man's torso, through his stomach, past the wrist. The axe wobbled. Geoffrey's legs buckled.

Blood dripped. Sean swallowed and covered his shame beneath his hand.

***  
  
Jonathan carefully released his hold inside Geoffrey's chest as the Hunter was forced to yield. It was a nasty bit of brutality. One he had learned on the night his progeny managed to brush a steel stake past his heart. Always a treat to show Geoffrey that he could adapt too.  
  
Claws out, he slung his bloodied hand to the side, offering it out, looking deep into the thwarted Hunter's pained eyes.  
  
“Sean.” He growled. “Come.”

Moments later, the electric sensation of Sean's tongue danced along his fingers, cleaning away Geoffrey's blood as the little Skal mumbled happily. Jonathan rested his other hand alongside the Hunter's neck as he healed, letting Geoffrey share in it, feeling him shudder as he fought not to so _enjoy_ the magic of Sean's tongue at work.

Once his hand was clean, Sean kissed the back of his knuckles, expressing his gratitude.  
  
“Do you serve me, Sean?” Jonathan asked, softly.

“After God, I serve none but you.”  
  
“Would you like more?” Jonathan asked, still holding Geoffrey's eyes.

The Skal nodded, “Yes,”  
  
“In time. Step back now.”

***  
  
He had lost the fight. Both of them. There was little resistance he could muster as Reid dragged him into the chair.

It pained him, hearing the tenderness, the gentleness with which Reid commanded Sean. So different to the rolling battle between them. He couldn't put a name on that hurt. Maybe it was because it felt so right. Maybe because it was the same tenderness he had hoped Sean would bring out in him, but twisted as only Reid could manage.

A moment later, all other thoughts were driven out as Sean climbed on top of him, clambering up to sit on his lap, bringing his warm weight against his own cool body. He tensed, once again not knowing where to put his hands, rebelling against the notion of forcing contact upon the Saint.

But Sean seemed perfectly comfortable. He was willing, even eager; eyes shining, cheeks flushed. Geoffrey had never imagined he'd ever get to see him this way.

Feeling utterly degenerate, he looked into the bright, golden eyes and ran a gentle hand over the Skal's broken skin. “Hello, Sean.”  
  
“Good evening, Mr McCullum.” Sean responded in kind.

His weight was so very welcome.  
  
Behind Sean's back, he saw Reid settle onto the sofa and lean forward to watch, hands clasped lightly between his knees. Chuckling, the monster said. “You may kiss him, if you'd like to.”

 _Bastard._ Geoffrey thought towards Reid. But the permission hadn't been for him. It was Sean who leaned in.

Delicately at first; a surprising warmth of soft lips between the bristles. Then with more certainty, pursing his bottom lip between his own. It was an outpouring of love and tenderness; an affection that surely could not be all Reid's doing.

“It is not, Geoffrey.” Reid murmured, in answer.

It was impossible to keep his hands to himself against the pleading earnestness of that kiss. He found himself squeezing Sean's skinny arms gently, pulling him closer, parting his lips to entangle Sean's tongue with his own.

Sean, who had offered him something like salvation, who was now falling to something like damnation in his arms. He ought to have been appalled. He wasn't.  
  
Reid's growl of approval seemed to light a fire in Sean even as Geoffrey felt its heat. The warm tongue came questing into his mouth, and the kiss came alive with rich, earthy blood. It all but blinded him, as his hand snapped up to press Sean harder against him.

It was Sean's blood, he realised. Barely like a Skal at all and he should know; he had reaped a bloody crop of the bastards.  
  
His fangs slid down and his own growl rumbled in his chest. Sean broke away, but not in fear. Dragging himself upright, his stomach muscles cramping with the need, McCullum adjusted them both, letting his next kiss fall on the little Skal's neck. Sean tilted willingly, giving a little whimper of anticipation, his pulse hammering under Geoffrey's lips. Over the collar of Sean's tunic, Geoffrey met Reid's dark eyes.

His Maker gave the slightest nod. Permission granted, at long bloody last. Geoffrey slid his fangs carefully through the delicate flesh.

God. What _**was**_ that? It was nothing like any Skal he'd taken before. Reid's blood? It was certainly in there, coursing under and over the rough heartbeat of something _like_ a living body. Warm and willing and oh, so thick...

“ _Enough_ , Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey slid back, grateful for the forced restraint as a completely unexpected high blossomed behind his eyeballs. Slightly glassy-eyed himself, Sean surged up to taste his own blood in Geoffrey's mouth, to run his tongue again over the lengthened fangs.  
  
Amid the crimson haze, the dragon rose and stalked behind him, taking McCullum's head in one hand and his shoulder in the other.

“Fair's fair, Geoffrey.” Reid purred, as he forced Geoffrey's head to one side. “Sean?”  
  
Sean perked up, panting, eager, hopeful. _  
  
“Bite.”  
  
_ God, Sean was quick when he'd made up his mind, and -  
 _  
FUCK._

Sean damned-near took a chunk out of his neck, enough to make Geoffrey try to jerk back, wanting to throw him off, trying to pull the Skal away. But Reid held him, as the electric surge finally caught up with him and he grunted, then moaned, then gasped beneath it.  
  
Sean was not the least bit sheepish when Reid finally ordered him to release. McCullum felt it a little though. Taking so much carnal pleasure in something the Saint couldn't control should feel wrong, but god that just made it feel better.  
  
He was hard, throbbing against his trousers, the blasted tent pressing shamefully into the little Saint. Geoffrey tried to move, vaguely thinking to cover himself and make some completely insufficient apology, but Reid's hands locked around his head and chest, holding him back. Sean was blushing.

Geoffrey could only grunt when the Saint bit his lip and rested his hand against the raging pressure. He pressed his palm down, as if in equal wonder at the forbidden prospect of something so sinful between them.

“Come away, Sean.”  
  
Instantly obedient, the little Skal slid down his body and stepped back. Geoffrey tried to take a moment, to breathe, to judge the situation a little more clearly. But Reid gave him no such opportunity.

Reid came around to stand with Sean and stroked the little Skal under the jaw. Sean trembled, delighted by his touch, over-sensitised by the vampire blood but so obviously glad to have pleased his Maker.  
  
Reid whispered little words of sweet praise, as if speaking to a pet. When Sean opened his mouth, Reid ran his thumb across his lower lip, then pressed down over the viciously sharp incisors. Sean closed his lips around it, and shivered. He sucked on Reid's thumb, mumbling his pleasure.  
  
Still, Geoffrey felt a little possessive thrill rising. Neither charitable nor covetous; simply a fact. He knew how potent Reid's blood was, how satisfying. Reid was his.

Neither of them looked his way, but he _knew_ the show was partly for his benefit... at least as far as Reid was concerned. Sean seemed only lost to the moment, making the same desperate, hungry little sounds McCullum had fantasized about in his own unchristian way.  
  
 _Fuck, had Reid known?  
  
_ A wry smile and a sideways glance from the monster answered that. Before Geoffrey could speak, before he could object, Reid stooped and spoke into Sean's ear, “Go and sit, Sean. Undress if you wish, whenever you want.”  
  
Geoffrey realised he'd spent his chance to get up, if he ever had any. After the slight weight and tender vulnerability of the Saint, he felt Reid's monstrous power all the more when he pressed him back down and straddled him. He coiled like a dragon over him, claws already raking as his hands drifted up along Geoffrey's chest.

Reid needed no permission, as Sean did. He stole blood and kisses when and however he wanted. He licked the blood from his now bloodied fingertips, twisted to lap it from Geoffrey's skin and finally tilted his Progeny's head to slide his fangs deep inside the freshly healed flesh.  
  
It was barely short of an attack, overwhelming the Hunter's senses until at last he managed to wrench free and pull Reid down against him.  
  
 _God, I've missed you_. Geoffrey thought, and Reid answered in a rumbling echo.  
  
The slender thighs locked against his as McCullum's hands slid up behind Reid's back, cupping his shoulders. His Maker rolled against him through the barrier of cloth. Each rough burst of friction was both a reminder of his place and a welcome home.

Geoffrey picked it up in kind, more roughly, rocking against his Maker, growling into his shoulder, flexing his strength against the only creature who felt anywhere near equal to it.  
  


***  
  
It seemed Geoffrey learned quickly, these days.

Jonathan twitched his torn coat away. After such tender patience, helping Sean awkwardly out of his clothes, teaching him to love his body and what it could do, this violent delight felt like coming home. The ease of practice had both of them half-naked in moments. He had treasured the moments with Sean, but he revelled in Geoffrey's brutish confidence as he revealed his beautiful body.

The manuscript of Geoffrey's scars rolled away under his fingers. He read it with his claw-tips, like braille, as his progeny surged up, up out of the chair to shuck off his trousers and tear Jonathan's belt open.  
  
Unleashed now, his Progeny tore into him like a storm. Claws raked into the meat of Jonathan's shoulders and he rolled with the motion, moaning lustily, to let Geoffrey at last sink his fangs into his throat. Scraps of fabric tore under talons. Fangs clashed and shoes were kicked away. Geoffrey threw his weight against him, twisting to destroy his balance and bringing them crashing to the ground with his Maker beneath. Jonathan allowed it; too ecstatic to return the challenge.

Sean gave a startled gasp, and Geoffrey seemed to remember that he was here. But Geoffrey was starting to welcome the depravity of having such an eager witness. He smiled roguishly at Sean, fangs bared, and growled an invitation.

Sean had kept his trousers on and was naked only to the waist. Yet his fingers were knotted around the edge of the cushion. He was breathing hard, as if trying to suck every molecule of the rich aroma into his mouth, trembling with conflicting desires.

Thoughts lashed between the two Ekon like whips. Quick conclusions. Easily made.  
  
Of one mind, they rose and Geoffrey let himself be hauled back onto the sofa, sprawling back with his hips at the edge of the cushion. They left a space for Sean, ample space, as Jonathan arched over him like a panther, pausing only to hook himself up over Geoffrey's balls, pinning their erections into fierce contact.  
  
He slipped a claw down into Geoffrey's chest, opening him below the sternum. Blood welled and trickled out of the ragged wound. The little Skal gasped, but held back. Instead, Jonathan bend to the wound, lovingly lapping it clean.  
  
“Well done, Sean.” Jonathan whispered as he ran his fingers over Geoffrey's thick cock. “Very good.”

Jonathan teased the member, only stroking idly, one finger rising to the tip and back down. Geoffrey growled.

“Are you ready to undress Sean?” Reid purred. “We'd like you to.”

Sean shook his head.  
  
“Very well.” He growled, leaning in to drive their cocks together, massaging both between his hands, hissing at the rolling pleasure echoing back from Geoffrey. “Then there is a bottle of oil on the bed stand. Fetch it.”  
  
**  
  
Sean returned quickly, one hand still covering the bulge in his trousers. God, if it weren't for the little Skal, they'd have fucked and be done. This was so much better, even if his skin was tightening agonisingly around the relentless throbbing.  
  
Reid's mouth attended to that, drawing him in with a single, long draught. Sean stood back, and swallowed, and watched.  
  
“Please, Sean.” Geoffrey grunted, extending his hand out, urging him to come back.  
  
That decided the little man, as he climbed past Reid to give the bottle to Geoffrey. He only put it to one side, and drew Sean in for another kiss. Reid's hand brushed his as he took the oil. He soon felt slick fingers sliding tantalizingly under his balls, beginning to circle his puckering skin. Still, Reid's mouth worked, his tongue sliding up, under, over, making his nerves sing again.  
  
He couldn't speak, couldn't say anything that wouldn't be too filthy for Sean's ears, didn't trust himself not to cry out to the Lord in vain.  
  
So he only turned his claws on himself, and laid two deep scratches down his neck.

“Please, Sean.”  
  
The Skal needed no more encouragement. He rested one hand against Geoffrey's rough chin, lovingly, as he bent to it. Lapping delicately, then sealing his lips around it.

This time, Geoffrey could let his mind roam wild as Sean drank, feeling the cyclical pull in every vein, tugging deepest at the ones inside Jonathan's mouth. Sean's gentle tongue laved passionately against the skin of his neck, sucking softly even as Reid drew hard. His cock fell from his Maker's mouth with a soft pop, as Reid slipped his fingers inside him.

The stimulation smashed into him from both ends, too much to process. He arched against it and the wretched chair cushion tore Sean's lips from his neck.

Reid snarled in sympathy and scored a long slash down his progeny's chest. Sean nuzzled at it, smearing briefly, then set his loving mouth to work again. Soon, Reid pressed the tip of his cock against him. Geoffrey slid down to meet him; an unintentional, desperate motion. Pleading, almost.  
  
“Are you certain you don't wish to join us, Sean?” Jonathan purred, drawing it out, pressing hard into him but just short of hard enough.  
  
Sean's gorgeous pale eyes were wide and eager, frightened and excited in terrible measure as he raised his bloodied chin and shook his head.  
  
“Forgive me, Maker.” He whispered.  
  
“I do, Sean. Give me your hand.”  
  
Reid took it and turned it, taking a moment to press Sean's mouth back to Geoffrey's wound. The little Skal gasped in gratitude, and began to lave at it again. Reid kissed the Skal's wrist, turning his eyes back to Geoffrey. Then he bit down, and thrust inside.  
  
McCullum roared.  
  
With the other hand, Reid pinned his hips to slide deeper, sinking fully inside him with little pulsing thrusts. When he no longer needed the fulcrum, he brought that arm alongside Geoffrey's head, offering the blue veins inside his elbow to his mouth. As Sean drew and the hunger rose, as Reid began to rock back and forth, Geoffrey twisted and bit down hard.  
  
Oh, God it was good.  
  
Reid fucked him like he meant it, as the blood poured in a crimson tide between the three of them, one to the other, endlessly, cyclically. It heated every nerve and sinew. Every sensation was drawn out, dragged up into the air, hewn to a feverous pitch. Sean's tongue probed into his wound, keeping it open when it tried to close, whimpering at the constant edge of hunger from Reid's feeding and the relentless satiation from Geoffrey's blood. He lapped and licked and god, all Geoffrey wanted to do was pin Sean to him forever.

The walls shuddered and fell. Reid released Sean and drove in hard, curling over them both, fangs grazing the Skal's neck. He was right on the crest of the wave. They both were. They _all_ were. Begging, snarling, driving and arching into it, Geoffrey felt Sean's hands appear suddenly around his cock and tug him over the edge.  
  
Geoffrey went blind, roaring as he emptied himself in throbbing waves. Jonathan wasn't far behind, dragging his Progeny's body down onto him with both hands, adding his rough voice as he came.  
  
At the very last, Sean uttered as soft a human sound as had ever entered their play, and sagged against his side with a gentle moan.  
  
It was fucking great to be home.  
  
**  
  
Jonathan left a line of kisses down his Hunter's body as he withdrew. Geoffrey sighed and softly muttered a stream of contented obscenities.

Looking away guiltily, Sean tugged his hand out from his stained trousers. The Skal tensed as Jonathan took it. But he only pressed it to his lips, kissed and licked, tasting the salt of Sean's satisfaction, reassuring him of how very much he approved.

With a happy sigh, Sean shuffled aside to make room then reversed himself to rest his head against Jonathan's chest. Geoffrey hauled himself up a little and slung an arm around them both, leaning into his shoulder from the other side. Sean closed his beautiful eyes while Jonathan stroked behind his ear.

Jonathan very much doubted this was redemption, of any kind, whatsoever.  
  
Even so, he felt peaceful. Sated. At ease. There was no better place to be. He drowsed, stroking Sean's head, leaning softly into McCullum.  
  
“Out of curiosity,” The Hunter drawled lazily, after a while. “Are you aware you have atype?”

  
***  
  
“I absolutely do **not** see it.” Reid growled, after the argument had been going a while. “Those are broad similarities. Not a **type.** ”  
  
Once they could stand again, they had hung the sheets. Simple, human things. Good habits.  
  
“You see it, don't you Saint?”  
  
“Please, no, Mr McCullum.”

Sean was wearing his cross again, and the transformation was remarkable. He certainly didn't seem the worse for wear. The phrases which would have been spoken in pleading desperation earlier were now as courteous and confident as the Saint ever was. Geoffrey had been relieved, then reassured. Maybe it had all worked out after all.

“I do not wish to be part of this.” Sean protested.

Geoffrey drew him close, under his arm. “I dispute that.”  
  
***

Later, giving in, they laid down together on the undressed mattress. Lying on their sides, with Sean curled in the middle.  
  
Every so often, when one had cause to brush a hand over the other's hip, or lean in for a bite, they extended the caress to include the little Skal. He was a balm to both of them. A little permission to express the tenderness they hid otherwise, a small prohibition against the violence that came more naturally.  
  
It would have been all too easy to keep him there, to never let him go. That was why they walked Sean back to the shelter before dawn.


	15. To follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waking of the dream.

  
Sunrise, coiling in the clouds like a scarlet dragon.

Sunset, creeping across the sky like bloody knives.  
  
***  
  
When he awoke, Geoffrey was ravenous.

Still, there was enough time. Unprepared, he did the best with what he had and went for Reid's throat.

Jonathan rolled, lithe as a snake, throwing sheets and arms across his path, wrapping him as they spun together. As Geoffrey made to tear free, a hand cupped under the back of his skull, lifting his neck into traction. The other pressed clever fingers ruthlessly into his spine below his ribs and something _shifted_ with a clunk. Geoffrey lost all sense of his limbs, arching and hissing into starbursts of pins and needles.

“Not tonight, Hunter.” Jonathan purred, nipping at his neck. His Maker's thoughts enfolded him, predatory and tender.

It seemed Reid was himself again.  
  
It was so fucking good to have him back.  
  
They hunted together, intimate and in-tune as they hadn't been for weeks. Even if Reid tended to 'stroll' while McCullum tended to 'patrol', the result was always that they walked together. Moving through the city in an easy companionship, matching one another, stride for stride.  
  
Conversation ate away at the hours, drawing out the hunt as they considered one person after another. It was good to fill in the gaps about Sean, and to share the details of his unexpected jaunt to French occupied Germany. It was good simply to exist.

Later, riding the blood-high, Reid dragged him into an alley and threw him against the wall. With his fangs brushing his ear, he promised that if Geoffrey could beat him in a straight fight, he would allow him to take him again.  
  
He was fairly sure Reid didn't _let_ him win.  
  
Mostly sure, anyway.

***  
  
Sunrise, sliding unseen through a rain-covered sky.

***

Geoffrey didn't realise it was a dream, at first. It was only a memory. The one he could never change.

The kitchen tiles were the same as he remembered them; grey stone with little veins of white. His Ma... his Ma was the same as he remembered her too. Broken. Like a doll.

She was already gone, but in the dream, she squeezed his hand. He was kneeling in the pool of blood surrounding her, shaking her, trying to wake her. That was not how it had really been; there had been so little blood that night.

“Shh.” She whispered through her torn throat. “He'll hear you.”  
  
He sobbed, his voice high pitched with fear and youth. “It don't matter Ma.”

Carl would be here soon. Geoffrey's life had already changed forever.

“Please, _a_ _chroí._ ” She soothed, holding him close as the blood stained his trousers. “You have to run. Don't let him catch you.”

  
**

Sunset, stealing the colours from the world.  
  
**  
  
Geoffrey had woken strangely. This evening, he did not even make a token lunge.

Jonathan waited, watching patiently, as his Hunter rose from the bed and stretched. The compressing muscles compacted his largest scars into fiercer lines, while others stretched out, pale over the taught ribs. It was bait, certainly. A means of luring him into a less defensible position.  
  
Despite knowing this, he obliged.

But Geoffrey disdained their little tradition. With a soft growl, he acknowledged Jonathan's touch with his own, but said that he was tired of being cooped up. He had spent so many weeks waking cautiously, minding himself carefully, that all he wanted was to get out into the rain and not have to _care_.

It sounded wonderful.  
  
Out in the night, they raced away from the well-lit areas of town, dodging lightly around streets, taking to the rooftops wherever they pleased. Geoffrey lead the way and Jonathan was content to chase after him. When his Hunter was not around, Reid never thought to indulge like this. He never simply relished his own existence, simply savouring the power of what they were.

Hidden by the sleeting rain, they dared at last to scale Tower Bridge, leaping from handhold to handhold in alternating bursts of shadow. How often, Jonathan wondered, had a young Geoffrey climbed in the rain like this, against all caution? Jonathan could, just about, recall sunlit walks in the park; Mary tearing her dress on the tree branches.  
  
His foot slipped. Geoffrey slid down and caught him, claws tearing remorselessly into his arm as he dragged him back up.  
  
“Brooksy.” His progeny accused.  
  
“Brute.” He returned, smiling.

Once at the top, Geoffrey turned his face up to the rain and let it drench him, running in rivulets down around his chin and jaw, soaking his shirt through. Almost vibrating with energy, he looked magnificent; free. For a moment, it felt like there was nothing that could stand taller than the two of them, looking down upon their domain.

Yet when he reached out to embrace his hunter, Geoffrey twisted in his grip, seized him under the shoulder and launched them both out over the edge. Jonathan hissed, but trusted. They went skittering and sliding down the main cable, barely controlled, plummeting at a spectacular pace, until they were forced to push away and leap down; two shadows dropping past the outside of the walkway, too fast to be discerned.  
  
Hanging from the girders beneath, smiling and shaking with silent laughter, Geoffrey took a sudden interest in the jetty by the bank, and Jonathan followed his gaze to the pair of men.

It was easy enough to find a way back to the street, even soaked as they were. Slipping around the the gatehouse, they dropped easily back into the flow of people and made their way beneath the bridge.

“Tiggy on the right is Carter.” Geoffrey said, his voice rough and hungry. “Just your sort. He shakes down the pickpockets, fences what they bring and takes them in if they come up short. Makes them carry on. He's bloody ruthless. But _ot sleeveen_ is mine.”

“Sleeveen?”  
  
“Dodgy bastard.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Geoffrey had been right. Carter was exactly his sort. A little game involving his watch, and a short conversation was enough to make the corrupt constable's blood sing as it thundered down his throat, smothering the growing fire and stoking a deeper glow.  
  
The Thames was there, ready to swallow both men into the unmarked end they deserved. They dashed on again, south of the river, with Geoffrey still riding high on the release from Priwen.  
  
Jonathan had never known Geoffrey to be quite this eager. Even now, sated again after they had hunted only last night, his smile was ravenous. Tonight, Jonathan was happy to simply follow wherever his progeny might lead.  
  
***  
  
Blood tangled in the air as he landed, drawing him up short. He turned and prowled after it, chasing the scent even as he heard Reid land lightly behind him.

Down below, in a narrow street, teaming with rats, there was a fresh corpse. Very fresh, as the man's heart stuttered and stopped even while he watched. The woman paused to kick him as he died, spitting insults for the sparse contents of the dead man's pockets.  
  
Geoffrey growled and breathed deep. He felt so god-damn _tense_ tonight, but this shit would have pissed him off anytime. It had been such a fucking waste. Not the man's life, specifically, but his own. He had thought vampires were the worst evil mankind faced. He had murdered his own damn brother in service to Carl's cause. He had sacrificed fucking _everything_.

Reid peered down into the alley and made a disappointed clucking sound in his throat.  
  
“You know her?” Geoffrey asked, low.

“Yes.” Reid said serenely. “Ms Mazer. She's done this before. I've been after her for a little while, but she always seems to slip by when I'm hunting.”  
  
“Fix that, shall we?” He grunted in reply, fangs already lengthening as he dropped down.  
  
***  
  
Jonathan hesitated as the first inkling of concern took root.

Of course, _he_ wanted to. But he, of course, was a monster. Unrepentant, mostly, as Geoffrey was not.  
  
He remembered too fondly the nights before Geoffrey had proposed their new arrangement. The loose rules largely attended to Geoffrey's lingering reservations; no innocents, bastards only wherever possible. However, they came with a general assumption of greater restraint.

Now that they better understood the addictive nature of human blood, that much was only logical. They had not indulged together like this since; never more than one kill per night and rarely hunting even that often.

He wondered, for a moment, if perhaps he had been neglecting his Hunter. If, perhaps, Sean bothered him more than he would readily admit. Not as a vampire, but as a man. It must have been jarring to return to Priwen, among men and women who idolised him, who didn't _know._ It was so easy to forget how fragile Geoffrey had been. It was too easy to forget that it hadn't been long at all.

Well, tonight he would indulge him. Tomorrow, he would take better care of him.

Doctor Reid smiled, and descended into the alley.

Ms Mazer recognised Jonathan, of course. This well-dressed well-spoken doctor who had once drawn her into the shadows only to vanish, leaving her bewildered and addled. She was already suspicious, when Geoffrey confirmed it all, stepping in, letting her see him, baring his fangs.  
  
It was an expectedly monstrous step for his precious Hunter. Darkly seductive to Jonathan; a thrill to once again witness the terrible creature he had brought into the world.

Ms Mazer did not flinch. Instead, she dropped her bag and spoke low, venomously. The invitation was clear enough without translation; 'Come on then.'  
  
She stabbed at Geoffrey as he came. Unrepentant. Crazed. She ruined his shirt with a short, jabbing thrust before the Hunter tore the knife away and lifted her. But then Geoffrey paused, looking speculative.

“Reid. Do you want to try it?”  
  
“Oh, Hunter.” In a quick burst of shadows, Jonathan arrived behind her. “You know I do.”  
  
She was snarling and cursing as he pressed her against Geoffrey's chest. It would not save her.  
  
Jonathan's arms wrapped past her, around Geoffrey as he drew her head up, and they bit down together, on either side of her neck. She fought for every moment she had left.

It was quick, of course. The blood tore into them both, bending them against each other, around her. Her heart stuttered against the conflict, giving up as they drew hard, tugging delicately against each other, sharing the rush.  
  
They let the body drop and leaned in, pressing into each other without words.

Good _God_ it was exquisite. Not the blood itself, but the buzzing high that bled over, rolling back and forth between them. They were clutching ineffectively at one another's clothes, foreheads pressed together, grinning like drunks as they came down.

They would _have_ to do this more often, Reid thought.  
  
“Why not now?” Geoffrey asked, purring.

“Oh, don't tempt me, Hunter.” Reid answered, licking the stain from Geoffrey's lips.

Geoffrey shifted his weight. They had been almost leaning against each other for support. Now, as the rush settled, he pushed Jonathan back against the alley wall, driving his tongue hungrily into his Maker's mouth.  
  
 _Be tempted._ Geoffrey thought at him. _I am_.

The inkling of concern that had taken root began to sprout. Then it blossomed as all of Geoffrey's bottomless hunger poured into him through their connection, leaving Jonathan gasping.  
  
He jerked back from the kiss, chiding him sweetly. “You've been working on your restraint for months. You can't have thrown it _all_ away on the continent.”

“On the continent,” Geoffrey growled, burying his face against Jonathan's neck as his hands slid up to shrug his coat back. “I was practically a fucking saint. I'm back now.” He caught his lips for a moment then moved on to unbutton Jonathan's shirt. “I'm back and I've fucking _missed you,_ Reid. Why is that?”  
  
Caught by surprise, Jonathan probed at his Progeny's thoughts, seeking context. All he received was the same frenetic buzz; furious and hungry, so he hedged. “Why have you missed me, you mean? I couldn't dare to say, my Hunter.”

“Why have I missed you so goddamn **much**? You're an honest monster, Reid, but you're a vicious beast.” His voice shifted to a growl. “Sometimes, I wonder just how much you're playing with my head.”

Jonathan chuckled. “Another machination, Hunter?”

Geoffrey stopped abruptly. “Tell me it's not.”

Perplexed, Jonathan frowned but answered easily. “It's not, Geoffrey.” He laid his fingers along his Progeny's collarbone. “I was as taken by surprise as you, remember?”

Something was very wrong. Unexpectedly, Geoffrey's skin almost seemed to _hum_ with the same furious energy burning in his mind. The contact _thrummed,_ the same way it did with Sean.

Concern shifted into the beginnings of suspicion.  
  
“Geoffrey,” Jonathan began urgently, “Are you feeling - ”  
  
There was no warning; no building tension. The Hunter struck.  
  
A furious bite, hard and savage, jarring his bottom teeth against Jonathan's clavicle, driving fangs deep into the artery. Jonathan hissed and tried to throw him off, but Geoffrey knotted his hand in Jonathan's hair and pulled him along with it.

The hard floor of the alley knocked out the breath he needed to speak, but he wasn't helpless.

 _Geoffrey._ He pressed through their connection, driving a knee up between them. _**This** **stops** **now**_.

Pushing back, like a bowling ball slamming into pins, Geoffrey bellowed in fury. “Get out of my fucking head!”

The Hunter slammed his head against the concrete in parting.As Jonathan reeled and healed, Geoffrey seethed, “ **This** hasn't even fucking started, beast.”

Feeling his blood roar in answer to the challenge, Jonathan fought to think logically. He could _not_ loose control now. This was no mere mistake. The change had been too sudden.  
  
Too sudden and too...familiar. Elisabeth had called it the Blood of Hate. It had seemed poetic at the time. Experiencing it vicariously through his Progeny, Jonathan finally understood what she had meant. Experiencing it, he could not _help_ but recognise it. The invisible enemy. The legacy of the Red Queen.

Geoffrey was _infected._

How didn't matter, for now. Jonathan was immune. What mattered was containing Geoffrey before he did something he couldn't live with. If Marshall and Blackwood were any indication, it would only get worse.  
  
Geoffrey tensed and lunged for him. Jonathan snapped a hand out, snarling, intent on seizing him by the throat and using whatever he _had_ to, if it would only keep the Hunter subdued.

But Geoffrey knew him too well.

It had been a feint.  
  
Before Jonathan could re-orient himself, the Hunter had leapt away amid smokey tendrils, vanishing upwards.  
  
Conflicted between rage and fear, Jonathan snarled and leapt after him, claws singing out from his fingertips in ecstatic pain. Already, he was reaching out. He had sunk one claw of control into Geoffrey's blood when, without warning, he slammed into the mental wall.

Hard. Blank. Callous. Geoffrey had slipped the amulet on.

Jonathan roared and cursed, racing to where Geoffrey had been.

But the trail was already cold.  
  
The Hunter knew his work too well.

  
***  
  
“Good evening, Doctor Reid.” Sean said, carefully closing the shelter door behind him. He didn't fear for his flock's safety, but better they did not have to face his Maker in this aspect.

The reek of blood rolled off the vampire in waves amid the musty, graveyard scent of death. Sean was not afraid. But he could not imagine what would bring Jonathan here, like this. He usually avoided the shelter after he had taken his sustenance.

Yet if Sean was unnerved, it was plain to see that the doctor was more so.

For Dr Reid, he didn't need words to give comfort. His presence was enough. Without hesitation, Sean stepped close and wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist, under his thick coat. The smell was worse here, and worse still for being more tantalizing to his Skal nature. Even so, he felt Jonathan unwind. Sean rested his head against his chest. The doctor stroked the back of his head, and exhaled.

“Sean,” The doctor said after a moment, “Geoffrey is overwrought. And he's drunk. I wish to stay here tonight. Is there somewhere I can stay through the day?”  
  
“I could make a bed downstairs? It won't be much, but it will be private.”

The doctor chuckled drily. “That will do. It's been a while but I've been used to far worse.”

Sean knew there was more to it than that. He slid his fingers up beneath the doctor's shirt, to touch the skin and learn what his Maker truly feared. But Jonathan stopped him, closing his own hand around his wrist.

“No, Sean.” Jonathan said gently, “I will tell you when my mind is more settled.”

The words came with an unwelcome sting. Sean nevertheless understood, and set himself to his task.

  
***  
  
Jonathan waited, ready to face Geoffrey. He had been certain that Geoffrey would come to the Asylum. The Blood of Hate _was_ the hunger; distilled and intensified. If Geoffrey's inhuman half was overriding his reason, it would inevitably bring him here.

Jonathan lingered, out of sight, for the rest of the night. The Hunter did not come. Jonathan was _certain_ that he would, eventually.

It gave him time to think. It gave him time to curse himself. Containing Geoffrey wasn't a solution, only an necessary step. It had been _months_. Jonathan ought to have been able to treat him easily. Wasn't he a doctor, first and a vampire, second?  
  
He cursed himself. How many months had he _wasted?_ Indulging his hunger, indulging in Geoffrey, in Sean.

When, precisely, had he given up? When had he stopped seeking a cure for the hunger and simply let himself become it?

He had _sworn_ to Mary.

Then, he had preferred to forget....

_Why?_

Jonathan thought back to the epidemic, to those painful memories and vivid nights and knew the truth. Even as he faced it, he felt the hunger rise. The blood-lust that would drown it all out. The path he had chosen, to take back control of his life, to escape...

Sean was reading to the young soldier with shell-shock; Mr Boyd. It was a passage about fear and reconciliation, about trusting God to separate a man from his past enemies. The Saint knew the words by heart it seemed, because he was not looking at the page.

Sean's eyes, pale and bright, were on his Maker. The candle-light lit him from beneath, as eerie as the night he had found Sean at the table with human meat.

Jonathan realised that he had been... lurking. Unmoving, inhumanly still, unmistakable to those with eyes to see a monster. Carefully, he drew a breath he did not need. Sean smiled, softly, and returned his gaze to the page.

For a while, Jonathan sat and listened. He did not believe in God. Yet, he had to admit, there was a truth to the words; a means for an old civilisation to grapple with psychology they had no other word for.

Still, Geoffrey did not come.

When sunrise was imminent, the two of them set a bed in the chamber below the shelter. Jonathan had not spoken a word to his Skal in hours. But, he had to ask.

“Sean.” He said softly, “Have you been trying to 'Save' me?”

There was no hesitation at all. Sean only turned those bright eyes upwards and spoke without guile. “Are you not trying to do the same for me, doctor?”

As sunrise came, Jonathan wrapped his arms around the Saint and remembered.  
  
 _'I am not that frightened man anymore.'_

_'Yes, you are.'_

Tomorrow, Jonathan would track the Hunter down. The wound at his neck had closed, but it still ached. The hateful callousness of the bite was more painful than the violence could ever have been. The guilt, of course, was worse still.

  
**  
  
Another dream came, sweet and seductive.  
  
Elisabeth slept on, her hair tousled on the pillow around her, red against the white. Jonathan realised how much he missed her. She had given him such purpose. He kissed her again and this time the blood that welled from her mouth poured through him endlessly, staining him red.

She mumbled in her sleep. Something about not having expected him to come.  
  
But of course he had. She had known he would, surely. He had been so lost since She had left.  
  
And in Her sleep, the Queen smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who like such things, my anthem for this point in this story : Simple Plan, by the Spiritual Machines. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZIO_5hIiVs )
> 
> ***  
> Welcome to the halfway point of the story and thank you for reading! I'd really appreciate your thoughts on something - As you can see, this story has a destination / journey in mind, like Grip. I can't decide whether to keep posting this as chapters and parts to the same Work, or 'end' Plaguebearer on this cliffhanger and finish it in a new Work - giving it appropriate tags for the unfolding story. 
> 
> I have vacillated on this SO many times XD I'd love to hear thoughts from people reading this (since you don't yet know for sure what comes next!) so please comment and let me know. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading :)


	16. To Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The invisible enemy. A wolf amongst the sheep. A shepherd in struggle. 
> 
> "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand." ~ Ephesians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hmm... Still debating putting next 'Part' as a seperate work...and this feels like an even better place. Thoughts on that still hugely appreciated! If I decide on it, I'll post an extra 'chapter' on the end of here linking to it you should get a notification if you're subbed)

**  
**Jonathan woke, wrapped in the seductive hunger that followed a night of indulgence. The second meal had left him gloriously saturated, laying amid a pulsing warmth of blood that kept his heart beating.

Last night, Geoffrey's turn had taken him by surprise. He had been _concerned_ for the Hunter, when he should have been raging. Oh, but he felt that overdue rage rising now.

Reaching out, he found nothing; only the seamless wall that prevented him getting purchase. Geoffrey would regret that cowardice. He could run as long as he liked. He couldn't hide forever.

A scuffing sound stuttered down the steps. Apparently, his Skal had sensed his rising. Sean dragged the cabinet back across with a grunt and padded down to join him. It had been a humble enough bed but he had done his best with Jonathan's help. A wire frame with blankets, comfortable enough to be worth drawing the little skal onto. Sean agreed, murmuring happily in his arms.  
  
Yet a fire was growing in Jonathan's heart. The natural outcome of overindulgence. A deep, pervasive itch. In need of salving.

“Sean,” He said languidly, tilting his chin up with a finger under his chin. “May I?”  
  
Sean swallowed and nodded, rolling his head to one side to receive his maker's kisses and then, almost as gently, his fangs. Sean shuddered against him, giving a low moan that tested his restraint. Even so, he drew back after only a few warm, heady sips.

Curled in a bed together, Sean's now-familiar reaction was only to be expected. He mumbled contentedly, pressing his head into Jonathan's chest like an animal begging to be petted.

Suddenly, Sean sprang back onto his feet, touching his cross in startled confusion.

His hair was alluringly askew, his pale eyes wide, but he was clearly deeply conflicted. When Jonathan reached out and took his hand, he could hear the muttering words of scripture, whispering through the Saint's mind, turning his heart against his Maker.  
  
The anger returned, tingling through Jonathan's body like fresh blood. Sean did not need the fairy stories any longer. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, facing his Skal.

 _He's yours._ A sweet voice seemed to whisper. _Take him_.

“You are afraid, Sean.” He said, lovingly, caressing the words on his tongue.

Sean nodded. “My flock is above, Dr Reid. I know my duty to them.”

“True.” The smile drew his lips tight over his fangs. “But you also know your duty to me.”

In horror, in delight, torn between Saint and Sinner, Sean shuddered.

“Don't be afraid, Sean.” He whispered, smiling, drawing Sean to him with a gentle pressure on his wrists. “You know I won't take advantage like that.”

He was still so _afraid_ , Jonathan realised. Not of the vampire, but...

“If you want to serve me,” Jonathan purred as he drew the little Skal back to him, resting his jaw alongside Sean's to speak directly into his ear. “You need to stop being afraid of yourself.”

Sean's breath was warm against his neck.  
  
“Do you want to hurt me, Sean?”  
  
“No,” Sean gasped.

“But you do. I can hear it.”  
  
“I don't... I ...” Sean faltered.

 _He's lying_ _._ The sweet voice sang.  
  
Jonathan hissed, “Do not lie to me.”

Sean stiffened but he did not try to fight. Not even as Jonathan drew his shoulder down with one hand and pulled his head aside with the other. Not even when his lips brushed against the pale, fragile skin. Not even when he bit down, hard.

The power was intoxicating. He caught himself, quickly. Jonathan intended only a brief chastisement and he ended it with a loving kiss, licking away the beads of blood. Sean trembled in his arms, murmuring lustful thoughts, tantalised by his punishment.  
  
“Be honest with me.” He whispered, affectionately, stroking the little Skal's head. His lips and tongue still wet with Sean's blood as he gradually released the pressure on his head and shoulder. Meaningfully, he asked again. “Do you want to hurt me, Sean?”  
  
“Yes.” Sean whimpered.  
  
“Have you felt the need for violence long?”  
  
Sean hesitated, faltering. “I turn it out.” As Jonathan pulled his head back again, Sean cried out, “I try.” Jonathan relaxed his grip. “But I can not. It is always there. God help me.”

“Good, Sean.” Jonathan released his grip, turning his hold on Sean's head into a caress. He kissed the flecked skin, bruised where he had punctured it so violently. Sean shivered at the praise.

Sensuously, Jonathan whispered. “Does it frighten you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you think you can hurt me?”  
  
“Yes.”

“How?” He weighted the single syllable with all the lust and rage he felt simmering in his chest. “I hear you, Sean. But say it.”  
  
“I... I am stronger than people think, Jonathan.”  
  
“Then prove it to me, my skal.” He tilted his own head aside, “Come. _Bite me_ .”  
  
With a small cry, Sean obeyed, whipping past Jonathan's cheek to tear into his shoulder with crushing strength. The invited savagery was ecstatic, grounding out all Jonathan's anxious energy like electricity.

 _Oh yes._ The voice seemed to sing, as Jonathan relaxed into the pain.

His little Skal _growled_ . Softly, but audibly. Jonathan purred to hear his Progeny find his voice. He wasn't _quite_ a Skal, of course. His Sean was more than that.  
  
Sean released him, panting and glowing with pleasure. The crackling fire of hunger settled down in both of them, inviting peace and strength into their bodies as they clung together.

Geoffrey would feel his wrath soon enough. For now, he had Sean.  
  
***  
  
Dr Reid had released him a few moments later, parting with much more tender kisses, licking the blood from the corners of his mouth and urging him not to forget his strength. The encounter left Sean feeling light and powerful.

He returned to his flock buoyed up and at peace with himself. Jonathan had not harmed him, would not harm him. Jonathan did not plan to press him into anything he did not wish to do. Yet Jonathan found great pleasure in helping Sean uncover what he wanted.

Over and over, as he worked, as little smiles came to him unbidden, Sean turned his eyes up and thanked the Lord for his gift.  
  
When it was time to lay the table, there came a commotion from outside. It was Alan Knight, again. Though he had not been the father of Miss Mooney's baby, the true father – Mr Cummings – had been his only companion in drink and damnation. They had been a terrible, destructive influence upon each other, dragging each other down, night after night.

Alan had not reacted well to his companion's determination to turn over a new leaf. Sometimes, he came to the shelter in the late hours. More often than not, he came with words of blame on his lips, accusing Sean of having turned his friend against him.

Sean already knew that their friendship would survive this hardship if only Alan would join in seeking redemption, rather than trying to drag Cummings back into ruin. In time, Alan would come to understand that. Regrettably, he did not yet.  
  
With a sigh, Sean went outside.

“Thank you, Jacob.” He said to the big man barring Alan's way. “Please, if you could help Lottie in my place, I will speak with Mr Knight.”  
  
“You faggot.” Alan spat blindly. “Fucking fruit.”

“You sure, Saint? I don't mind.” Jacob said without taking his eyes off the other man.  
  
“I am sure. Alan has only come to have words with me, I believe?”

“I fucking have as well.”  
  
Sean nodded to Jacob. “He is in need of comfort, my friend. I will call if there is any problem.”  
  
Jacob grunted, “If you're sure, Saint.” With a last, meaningful look at Alan, the big docker turned away and went inside.

“Alan.” Sean said gladly. “I am very happy to see you so sober. How are you tonight?”  
  
“I'm fine and dandy, _Saint_.” He spat the last word, making a mockery of it.  
  
“Please,” Sean said, smiling, showing the man that he shared his discomfort. “You really need not call me that. It is a nickname, nothing more. Call me Sean if you wish to, or Mr Hampton if you would rather.”  
  
“I'll call you what you fucking are, sodomite.”  
  
It hit like a blow and stung. Sean was horrified. For a moment, love gave way in his heart and fear took over, leading him astray as he asked, “Why do you say such things, Alan?”

“I've seen you with your dandy man. Is that why you do this?”

“Alan, your fear has no foundation here.” Sean tried to sound forgiving, but there was a quaver in his voice; the weakness of selfish fear. Alan's anger latched gladly on to the bleeding vein of Sean's shame.

“Is this how you poofs recruit? Leading respectable people into your fold.”  
  
“Alan.” Sean began. God forgive him, it was not His love Sean thought of then, but Jonathan's. Perhaps that was what moved Mr Knight to violence; the sight of Sean's anger briefly revealed.

Sean would never know.

Because Mr Knight shoved him roughly in the chest. It didn't hurt. Sean chose to accept the blow, to turn the other cheek as he should. He staggered back, tripped, and stumbled to one knee.  
  
To his horror, it was a terrible mistake.

There was only a small gasp of air as Dr Reid manifested from the shadows and snatched Alan from the courtyard. Abruptly, Sean was alone.

His mouth went dry. Sean scrambled up, trying to track the racing streamers of smoke. There; they had curled around the building. He broke into a run. He was already pleading in his mind for Jonathan to _stop_. This was not the way for a lost soul like Alan.

As Sean grabbed at the corner of the building, trying not to skid on the loose stones, he struggled at first to believe what his eyes showed him.

In the walled-off section beside the shelter, where torn tarpaulins and sandbags lay stacked from former use, Dr Reid held Alan up to his face. The vampire was entirely undisguised, so that the man could look into his eyes and feel all the terror he ought. His right hand was bunched in Alan's shirt, his left cupped cruelly under his jaw. Alan's legs dangled.  
  
“You do not deserve him, Mr Knight.” The doctor was saying, “But you do deserve me.”  
  
Alan did not even cry out as Jonathan bit into his throat.

"No!" Sean could not prevent it. In desperation, too late, he found himself turning some key, unlocking a part of him he had barely explored. He was launched forwards, thrown against Jonathan's feet as though he had flown. Yet the dizziness... the dizziness was overwhelming.

“Stop.” He hissed, as his head spun. Quietly. Too quietly, perhaps.  
  
It didn't take long... it didn't take long at all... before all was done. The body shook. The sounds subsided.  
  
When it was over. When it was horribly, finally over, Jonathan knelt down, lowering the body to the ground. Sean sobbed.  
  
Dr Reid's fingers caressed behind his ears. Sean clung to him, even as the dark storm of Jonathan's rage collided with the rising squall of Sean's resentment and fury. Alongside it came another urge, unholy and horrifying.

“Go on, Sean.” Jonathan urged him, growling, pleased. “It's fresh.”

“No.” Sean shook with the effort of resistance. Saliva washed his mouth and all anger evaporated.  
  
He was suddenly so tired of being a Saint. All he could think was how much he wanted to take what was offered. Did John not say ' _love covers over a multitude of sin'_? In that moment, Sean hated it all. All those who twisted the scripture against God's love, who forgot the most important message of all. It was so simple. Yet people were determined to make it untrue.

The body smelled better than any repast, better than the meal to be given to his fold, better than salvation itself. The man was already slain; his remains ought not go to waste. A feminine whisper slithered in his skull; _go on go on go on._

Sean swallowed and bent to take communion. Only, as he did, he realised he was kneeling at Jonathan's feet.

Sean had sworn... _Jonathan_ had sworn... never again.

 _No._ He thought, pressing back against that voice he now recognised. _I will not_.

Sean did the only thing he could do. He slipped his hand under his Maker's trouser leg to brush his ankle, to hear all he might through the doctor's skin. His skin prickled with horror. It was _not_ Jonathan. Or, rather, it was not only him. The doctor's voice was in another's cadence. He was taking up Her song.  
  
“No,” He said aloud, and _felt_ his Maker's rage at the denial. Irrational, inhuman and monstrous. A furious anger, tangled in the fear of being alone, of losing everything, of being only an animal at war against the world. A rejection of all things that might redeem him for the sake of being able to forget the past.

And beneath it, the same voice singing to Jonathan, urging the doctor on, twisting him around her will. _Her_ voice, sweet and damning, beyond the strength of any man to fight alone.  
  
She was singing to the doctor, as she had sung to Sean before.  
  
“ _**Eat** _ .” His Maker Commanded him.  
  
“No!” He grit his teeth as his own fists dragged the body towards him. He tried to keep his mouth closed, but he couldn't.

Sean went away, somewhere far away in his head, as Alan's flesh tore deliciously under his teeth. It was still warm, still bloody, running streamers of precious liquid down his throat as he ripped backwards, throwing his head back to take the offering into his mouth and swallow. He had never tasted a sacrament like it. He wanted _more._ His inhuman jaws parted as he bent once again.  
  
 _No!  
  
_ Sean threw himself back against the silver chains, against the oily desire, against the song itself. His gnarled hand fumbled for his cross. The worn wood, so familiar, grew hot under his hand and turned to the only true power that could save him. With God, all things were possible.  
  
 _Lord forgive me. Protect me._

For the first time, Sean _saw_ the Light.

The Sad Saint did not believe that God manifested for his ever-doubting children. God was so much more than what you could _see. Y_ et he saw it now; the briefest flicker of light, before it moved out of sight again. He trusted, however. He had faith that it was still there.

Dr Reid jerked back, howling the pain of Sean's betrayal. Tears sprung to Sean's eyes as the vampire hunched back, throwing up an arm as if to protect himself from fire. The Lord's love ought not be a sword. Yet Sean could not relent. For the sake of his fold, for the sake of his soul, he could not relent.  
  
 _I am sorry._ Sean thought and sobbed as he prayed. The simplest prayer. The easiest one. The one taught to God's children by the Saviour himself.

“God in Heaven, hallowed be thy name -” It began.

Jonathan hissed, blinded, seeking an escape, able only to retreat.  
  
“- Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven -”

 _I am sorry_. Sean thought again, weeping, trying to send the thought to the doctor along with all His love. Even though it was a love that scorched and hurt the man it touched. _  
  
_“Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses -  
  
 _Please, forgive me._

“- As we forgive those who trespass against us - ”  
  
 _I know you are only sick._  
  
The doctor saw his escape at last; a plank high above. He sprang away; corkscrewing shadows vanishing into the darkness. Sean did not break off his prayer.  
  
“- But deliver us from evil.” Silence settled on the courtyard, except for his fragile voice. “For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory. Forever.” His voice cracked to whisper, “And ever. Amen.”

At last, his praise given, his soul perhaps saved, Sean sank down.

Already, he could hear heavy boots approaching in the courtyard. Jacob, perhaps, and others responding to the noise. They were coming slowly, coming to check that he was well. The tears came at last. He was not afraid of their judgement. There was no space in his heart for fear alongside his grief. He would face his flock now. He could not lie to them.

Sean apologised to the man's spirit and fetched a tarpaulin over the body. Whatever came next, Alan deserved better than to be seen like this.

Jacob and Lottie came around the corner together. Realising he had blood on his lips, all over his face, Sean covered it with a hand as he rose slowly and turned to face them.

Jacob scowled, his eyes instantly fierce. Lottie only gave a small sound of dismay and turned back.

“Is he gone, Saint?” Jacob asked, jowls twitching with anger.

Unable to find his voice, Sean nodded.

Jacob shook his head and scanned the yard for any malingering presence. Sean waited, seeking his own peace with this.

“You okay?” Jacob asked, more softly. Taken aback, Sean nodded again, blankly.

Lottie returned then at a rush, reappearing with a sympathetic smile and a clean cloth.

She offered it into his free hand, unafraid. “Here you are, Mr Hampton.”

Touched, Sean took it and wiped his face. Understanding dawned only when Lottie said, “Oh, it doesn't look too bad. Mine are just like that.”  
  
They thought the blood was his own.  
  
They were ready to assume the worst of Mr Knight.

They were ready to assume the best of him.

Shamefully, shaken and reeling as he was, it did not even occur to Sean to correct them until after he was inside, washing his face in a basin set aside. He paused, then returned to washing his face. Sean did not wish to lie to his flock, even by omission. Yet the truth contained such lasting horrors that ignorance was a mercy. The righteous path was unclear. To act in love, he must bide and consider until he was more certain.  
  
No one tried to help him with his injury. It was too well known that he was being treated by a blood doctor.  
  
Afterwards, Sean knelt before the Lord and begged for guidance and for forgiveness. He prayed for Mr Knight's soul and trusting that the Lord would welcome him, understanding Alan's blamelessness for his own sudden end and forgiving the sins he would have repented in time.

After that, he prayed for fortitude.

Sean would return later for the body. First, he had to protect the rest of his flock.


	17. Part III ~ Within fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?" ~ Corinthians, 6:14
> 
> (So... that 'buckle up' tag? This is why it's there.)

Jonathan tore through another victim in a rage, disregarding his arrangement with Geoffrey utterly. If the vampire hunter wished him to abide by it, then he ought to enforce it better.

The bloodletting did not make McCullum emerge, but it did sooth the gnawing void left by the burn of the cross.

The cross that Sean had turned on him.

'His faith will not accommodate creatures like us', he had told Geoffrey. And he had been right, of course. This outcome was inevitable. If McCullum hadn't driven them together so impatiently, Jonathan might have worked on Sean more gradually, bringing him around over the many years they had ahead.

Instead, he had lost him. Over a wasted, hateful little man who had deserved no better. McCullum's impatience was almost as destructive a force as his was.

So be it. McCullum would not defy him again. He had given the man too long a leash, it seemed. He could take Sean's place if he so envied it.  
  
***  
  
To begin with, Sean hung a cross on the door and recited Paul's admonition against evil, asking the Lord to revoke the invitation to both Ekon. He did not know if it would help, but he had faith. The Lord would provide.

After that, he made certain that no one would be sleeping in the tents tonight. Discreet late-night arrivals sometimes took a bed there rather than disturb the others. Tonight, Sean turned the outdoor bunks upside-down and placed a note on the door, assuring them that he would be awake and attentive and inviting them to knock – quietly.  
  
Later, while his flock slept, Sean swiftly moved the body downstairs through the little hatch he had used in the past for just that purpose.

The oily hunger taunted him as he carried the body down for the sewer skals, but he did not consider partaking for even a moment. Sean only took clippings of hair and skin to bury, as he had done during the epidemic.

He caught no sight or sign of the other Skals. They would be nearby, he knew, perhaps watching him even now. Sadly, they would no longer trust him as they had. To the Sewer Skals, he was an outsider now; the willing subject of a vampire.

Sean lamented that, briefly. He would have been grateful for Old Bridget's counsel tonight.

His first instinct had been to seek out Geoffrey McCullum. Geoffrey had trained for this since he was a boy... and he would not kill Dr Reid if there was any other way. He might even know if there were some as-yet untested cure that the doctor had been working on, which could be tried.

Yet, Sean had seen too much when he had touched Jonathan's skin. They had been only small flickers, but enough to hint that Geoffrey was more than merely 'overwrought'. If McCullum was also ailing, no good could come from seeking him out.  
  
Sean wavered under the weight of guilt. If the Ekon had succumbed to his same sickness, then surely it meant...  
  
No. He would unburden himself before the Lord later. Recriminations helped no one now.

After that and for the rest of the night, he held vigil over his fold. He had been in greater despair than this, and had found hope. There would be a way. He would find it. He would not crumble now.

  
***  
  
Jonathan returned to the house, feeling it out as he went, trying to catch a hint of Geoffrey. But if the Hunter had been there, he was gone without a trace by the time Jonathan returned. Inside, he found no vacant spots amid the weapon racks – a more certain sign that he hadn't come home.  
  
Where the hell was he?  
  
His rage had not left him. However, the walk and the satiation had given him space to think. He felt deeply uneasy, agitated. Thinking logically, he examined himself under the harsh light of reason, pacing idly.

His wrath was understandable, given separate betrayals by Sean and Geoffrey both. He had been far too lenient with both of them. Passing by the mirror, he paused to wipe away a smear of blood he had splashed across himself from feeding so violently.

He stopped.

It wasn't blood.

Jonathan stepped closer to the looking glass, tilting his head. There were welts along his skin; raised, livid marks on both sides of his neck.

His outrage overflowed. His skin _did_ _not_ carry injury after it had healed; those welts defied everything he knew about his condition. In a burst of rage, he raked his claws across the glass, scratching out the galling evidence of his flawed, imperfect science.

_You think you're fighting a disease, Jonathan. But it's you._

He stopped. It had been... more visceral than a memory.  
  
“Mary?”  
  
Of course, there was no answer. Mary was twice dead. Jonathan fought to get his mind under control. _Think rationally._

Tamping down his anger, for now, he looked again, manoeuvring around the scarred mirror glass.  
  
His skin _had_ healed. Yet, at his shoulder, the indents of Sean's teeth had raised up in an angry, agitated line. On the other side, four livid welts lined up with Geoffrey's fangs. He wasn't a dermatologist, but it looked like an immune response.

Jonathan went cold.  
  
_Oh,_ _ **well**_ _**done,**_ _dear brother. Mother always said you were the sharp one._

He shook his head and did not respond. He knew too well what guilt could do to a man's mind; he had seen it on the front lines, and after.

Dr Reid went to his desk and drew his blood quickly, preparing the slides without giving any ear to the frustrations, the anger, the dark thoughts surrounding everything his eyes fell upon.  
  
As he watched his own erythrocytes perform their usual act of cannibalism, all seemed normal. His blood and human, reacting just as expected. Another slide. His blood and Sean's together. Again, the same reaction he had come to expect.  
  
Sean _could not_ have infected them. It was impossible.

 _Really, Jonny?_ The hallucination returned. _I gave up on 'impossible' the night my dead brother tore my throat out._

Jonathan ignored her and focused on the facts. He had been attacked and bitten by frenzied Skals dozens of times. He and Geoffrey had fed on them with impunity, until the infected ones were all but gone. Infected Skals _**did**_ _**not**_ transmit their fever to Ekon. 

Even if they could, he had been inoculated. He _**could**_ _**not**_ be infected.

There would be another reason; another instigating factor he could address. He was real. He was Dr Jonathan Reid. He would not fear God, the Devil or his own existence. Phantoms and myths were only artefacts of incomplete knowledge. Science could define them and once defined, destroy them.

 _By all means_ , Mary sighed, bitterly. _Third time is the charm, they say._

**  
  
Sean raised his head when he heard the hum; as though a great, bass violin had been plucked just on the other side of the wall.

Sean breathed deeply and turned to the new senses God had gifted to him. It was not Dr Reid. There was no ethereal sense of his presence. Yet, it was an Ekon. It was outside the further door; a pulsing crimson haze against the night.

Perhaps it was a stranger, Sean thought. He would be almost grateful, tonight, for a rogue sneaking through their territory, intent on preying upon his flock.

The haze turned and paced the boundary of the Shelter. When it stopped again, only feet from him though the wall divided them, he knew he had been sensed in return. It was close enough to smell it now; blood and death, cloying in its intensity. It raised a hand to rest on the door beside him.  
  
“Séan _._ ” It crooned quietly, like a fist around Sean's heart. “Are you there?”  
  
Sean wept at the sound of Geoffrey McCullum's voice. It was deeper than it had been, low and rough as if the man were drunk. Perhaps he was.... perhaps that was all it was...  
  
“I am here, _mo chara.”_ He answered softly. Despite himself, he edged a little closer to the door. “Are you well?”  
  
“I'm fine, Sean. But there's something wrong with Reid. Can I come in?”  
  
Sean swallowed _,_ “I can not let you in, Mr McCullum - Please forgive me - Not... when you have not indulged yourself so. Come back tomorrow when I can trust you, please. I would be glad to see you then.”  
  
“Sean. _Open the door_.”  
  
The words clanged in his head and the silver chains tightened. He hated that sound. Sean's hand moved without his volition. All he could do was hold the Lord's love close, summon up the words to the Psalm and pray that he would be forgiven for what he must do.  
  
He did not see The Light this time. But, he knew it was there.

At sight of it, Geoffrey darted back from the door, hiding behind the frame with a hiss. Sean closed the door again, quickly, and turned his back on it in horror.  
  
A glance had been enough. It was not Geoffrey, though the sickness wore Geoffrey's skin. His eyes were dark, the centres glowing as Jonathan's did. Demonic and inhuman. Monstrous. Not Geoffrey. Not Geoffrey McCullum at all.  
  
“ _Invite me in_.” The sickness wearing McCullum's face growled.  
  
It was not McCullum. Sean knew that now. It was not his Master's progeny, if indeed he had any master but God. He was not compelled to obey this Ekon. Sean rooted himself in his faith and trusted in the Lord to protect him.  
  
“Sean. Please. I need your help. I know it looks bad, but I won't hurt your flock.” The thing that was not McCullum pleaded. _“Let me in, mo chara.”_

The command rang around him like clanging bells, but Sean shook the noise out of his head. He would not listen. He did not need to listen. This vessel She wore did not have Dr Reid's finesse or power; it could not control him by brute force.  
  
The disease sank down to the ground outside the wall, and Sean could hear the grind and click of a lighter. After that, the smoky smell of McCullum wafted through the seams of the door.  
  
“I don't blame you, Saint. I wouldn't trust me either. All in all, I don't blame you for failing either.”  
  
Sean held his candle close and prayed for strength.

“I've seen you now. The real you. I get it. It's not fair, the way everyone calls you Saint. You're just as fucked as the rest of us.” The disease laughed bitterly, “That's why you failed. You're fucked, Sean. We're both fucked. The world... is fucked.”

Sean did not answer the accusation. The words were hurtful, but he already knew the disease was cruel.

McCullum's voice grew thick with despair. “We were it's _Champions.”_ The door shook as it lashed out with McCullum's fists. Sean thanked God that it could not breach the boundary even enough for that. “We failed and it wasn't even our fault. We got taken out of the running when we were kids.”  
  
A few of his sleeping guests raised their heads but Sean held his candle up and urged them back down with reassuring motions. They didn't ask further. They trusted him.

“Sean, most people don't want to be helped. They don't want it to be better, they just want it 'better' for themselves. We're kidding ourselves if we think we're any different. Fuck 'em. World's burning. We didn't light the match.”

Sean heard him rise to his feet. The door shifted, minutely, as the vampire rested his hand against it and spoke, very low. “I want to show you what I mean. I'll give you tonight. Tomorrow, if you don't come out, I'll burn this place to the ground. Consider that fair warning.”  
  
Sean's own anger broke through as he said, “You will do no such thing, Mr McCullum.”  
  
“You sure about that, Saint?” There was no warmth in his dry chuckle. “Do you have faith?”  
  
“You know I do.” He answered, “If we make a better world, it _is_ for us for this is God's world and we are all His children.”  
  
The disease laughed in McCullum's throaty voice. “Tomorrow night, Saint. Come out, or tell it to the flames, _mo_ _chara.”_

With the sound of boots crunching the loose stones, the red haze moved away.

His flock slept. Those who had been awoken by the commotion trusted him enough to understand. Those who could went back to sleep. Those who could not, tried.  
  
They all understood how much it must hurt him to deny a friend.

***  
  
Jonathan rested his head against his hands. He had no tears to weep. He was long done with grief anyway.  
  
Afterwards, moving carefully, he took the sample to the incinerator, and watched to ensure every trace was destroyed.  
  
It should have been impossible. It wasn't.

He was infected.  
  
He had fought and he had lost. Like Arthur. Like Marshall.  
  
In despair, he let the hunger drive him out, to scent and follow the red blossoms scattered like poppies across the black night. There were so many of them. Near and far. Enough, perhaps, to satisfy him one day.

He knocked on the door. They invited him in. They always did, one way or another.  
  
  



	18. Without reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The light shineth in darkness; yet the darkness comprehends it not." ~ John 1

  
Geoffrey paused in passing to glare at the dilapidated theatre. No one but Priwen had wanted it after the outbreak had been tracked back there. It had never occurred to him before, how fucking unfair it was that Priwen worked out of abandoned lots and broken-down buildings.

As the hunger clamoured, driving claws into his head, Geoffrey growled and turned away. He'd leave them be. He wasn't angry at _them._ They were trying to make it better. It wasn't their fault that they didn't have a fucking chance.

There were more than enough other people seeing to that. Geoffrey would find them and make them pay. Vengeance, for all their blind disregard, for all their willing ignorance. If humanity had just worked together, there probably wouldn't **be** any vampires any more. Of course, the noble herd was always too fucking busy with infighting.  
  
That was probably why God allowed vampires to exist. Fuck, maybe the Saint was right. Maybe vampires were God's way of kicking His errant children, in the hopes that they would finally break out of their stupor and kick back. Maybe one day, people would finally wake up.

Maybe, if there was enough bloodshed, they would.  
  
It was good to feel righteous again.  
  
** **  
**  
The simplicity of slaughter.  
  
A balm to his soul.

Such perfect catharsis. The meat and the blood and the sounds, oh, the sounds they made.

Yes, Jonathan had missed it, more than he had been able to put into words. He had missed it ever since Geoffrey had eased him back towards something like humanity.

Only once before had he indulged like this. That house in Manchester, after the epidemic; a well-earned release after his long toil. Blood dripped now, as then, from his claws and his chin, pooling on his chest. He had removed his shirt for the pleasure of feeling the warmth spreading above and below his skin. Oh, it had been so _long._ His beard was soaked through, pouring the endless glorious aroma into his nostrils as it dried.

 _Finally, we see the truth again._ Mary's voice hissed. _No more lies, Jonny._

“Are you quite done?” He returned, losing his patience with the phantom.

 _Oh, does it hurt?_ There was a hysterical edge to her laugh. _Hearing wicked voices in your head? I can't_ _ **imagine**_ _that pain, precious brother._

“You are an artefact of my fever.” He told her. “A symptom, nothing more.”

 _We were both symptoms._ She agreed bitterly. _Since the moment we rose from the grave.  
  
_ “A manifestation of my guilt, too, perhaps. A trauma induced hallucination.”

_Do you really need another diagnosis beyond 'plague'?_

“Oh, shut up.”

The blood did dry, eventually. He didn't mind. She had been right on a few things, in the end. His dead heart had reconciled to it at last. Pausing only to clean himself up, to groom his hair and his beard, he let the hunger lead him out on the hunt once more.

It was only logical.

Remaining civilised was impossible and it was not easy to remain discreet. Yet, he did not abandon himself to passion in the street. He knocked. They let him in. He was no more and no less a predator than he had always been. He was only so _hungry._

The phantom chased him at first. But it only took a few more to finally take the edge off his hunger and silence her at last. Satiation crept over his skin, tingling deliciously as he sucked the blood from his fingertips.

The irony was unbearable. He was the most successful Champion of Myrddin's get and here he was, laid low by a simple Skal. Yet, laid low, he was reminded how very high he could soar. Even now, the elegant high peaked his arousal, making him feel whole once more, making him realise how _hungry_ he had been even before his infection, how much deprivation he had endured for Geoffrey's sake.

 _Geoffrey..._ The thought bothered him.

 _A poofter too._ She asked, in a tone of genuine sympathy. _What will mother think?_

He needed to keep her silent. He could not _**think**_ with her taunting him.

Two of the people were still alive. One was simply frozen in terror on the floor, his conscious mind blown away by the storm.

 _Oh yes._ She cackled with delight. _Exactly what you need. Medicate me away then._

Jonathan squatted down over the man, resting his claws under the chin, savouring his whimpers... and reduced the count to one.

With satiation came sanity, if only briefly.

 **She** was making him do this. The Red Queen whose awakening had caused his death and all the deaths that came after it. He was not loathe to be the monster that he was; he revelled in it. But, he would not be a slave. If he truly hated anything – and he did – he hated Her most of all.  
  
She wasthe hunger that would never be satisfied. To her, he was nothing more than a pawn.

How many Champions had there been, who could not conceive of attacking her directly? What sane man could contemplate fighting a mountain, or an ocean, as anything but folly? Jonathan would not have contemplated it himself, if he had been allowed to continue his descent. He had been content to be distracted and avoid all the pain and memories thereby.

Now, he gazed upon the mountain, the ocean, the natural force that was the Queen... and contemplated strata and currents. More accurately, he considered pathology.

The Queen had no inkling of how _**afraid**_ she ought to be. If she had only left him be...

But, she hadn't.

Scanning the room, Jonathan's eyes lighted on the desk. He plucked the quill from the stand and began to write. In neat lines and florid curves, he wrote down his thoughts as they came. When the lines of ink became jagged, he drove the quill into his wrist and continued in crimson. When the nib snapped, he turned away.

The last man was hiding under the stairs. This man had hidden while better men tried to protect each other. He was still there now, trying to stifle his breathing, having no suspicion that Jonathan knew perfectly well where he was. Jonathan had enjoyed listening to it.  
  
Purring, he pulled the man out from under the stairs, nodding a greeting before he ripped his throat out and drank the torrent raw from his severed neck.

As clarity returned, he returned to his notes with a clearer head, and got to work.

  
**  
  
Even in Jonathan's mindless madness, perhaps because of it, the gravity between their blood made their meeting inevitable.

They were both caught by surprise, it seemed. Geoffrey, striding onward with his head down and trying to put his finger on why he was so goddamn angry. Jonathan, given over to it, hunting for the next gasp of sanity. Crossing through the park between the houses, feeling the sudden tug of proximity drag their heads around to see each other from fifty feet away.  
  
Recognition sparked like flint on steel. There was no word for the feeling. Language became irrelevant in the face of it. A haze like hunger, a pressure like a fist against his loins and the baying call of violence. Shadows spun away as they met in the middle. Claws and teeth tearing, fists breaking bone, blood tinting the air red.

The amulet's flimsy protection blasted away under the shock of contact, stabbing needles of thought between them in each blow.

_\- made me like this –  
  
\- better if I'd never met – _

There was no intent behind it. Only the wild, ravenous need for satisfaction, only a confused malevolent desire to be close again, claws digging deep, hands grasping.

_\- made me this way -  
  
\- better if you'd never come - _

The mutuality of loathing was absolute, every sentiment echoing like gunshot. Misery loved nothing quite like company.

Jonathan welcomed the pain, ripping open Geoffrey's throat even as the Hunter grabbed him behind the head, digging claws deep to graze against the bone.

“Kill you, beast.”

“You can't kill me.”  
 _You can't kill me._

Something ancient and seductive bubbled under the words, as their skin touched and the song harmonised between them. Jonathan growled, pushing back into into the Hunter's grip, overwhelming the amulet utterly as their skin pressed together.

With a savage smile, his hand locked around the Hunter's wrist.

“You got too close.”  
 _You came too close._

Jonathan forced the claws out of his flesh as he dragged his Progeny down with him. Hunger roared and the blood pounded in his ears. The flame of their appetites burst into an inferno against each other.

The distant part of him, under siege and at war, heard another voice under his own words and tried to tear free. The fire burned it away, even as he heard Geoffrey's mind join his in trying to refuse her command; a desperate, drowned out chorus of defiance.

Wrestling, fighting, tearing chunks away, but never breaking free, they tumbled together like one beast at war with itself. Geoffrey threw him down over a bench, but they were still connected; Reid's hand hard around his wrist, . Entwined and not _alone_ , like puppets on a string, feeling her rage, riding her hunger.

_Your Champion can't defeat me, child. They're already mine._

“You can't beat me.” Jonathan hissed, watching through his Progeny's eyes as Geoffrey bared his backside. “You're already mine.”

_\- hate you -_

They existed on a scale so far below her recognition, but the breaking of a Champion was the sweet conclusion of every tale, the lullaby before every sleep. A coda on the end of the performance, for hadn't he always been her most amusing child.

Geoffrey unfastened his trousers and God, the Hunter was hard against him, both of them snarling in hatred and hunger as Jonathan tilted his chin upwards and urged his Hunter on with a bestial roar.

\- _hate you more -_  
  
Slicked by little more than spit and blood, Geoffrey thrust inside and there was nothing, nothing at all of sense left after. Only the exquisite agony, the pounding of blood and bodies, the press of flesh that was a bondage neither could break and always, always, the rhythm of the song.  
  
In time, it would reprise. As certain as the cycling of sun and moon, carried forward by the same Champions who brought their feeble arms against her. _  
  
How could I be beaten by one who is only a slave?_

“You were always only another slave.” Jonathan hissed. _  
  
_Slaves they were. To the thirst, to the hunger and to her, bound tighter by every hateful word. When Geoffrey pressed Jonathan's face down into the cold metal, he was not alone; Jonathan pressed in under his hand, driving his face down, hating and hurting himself for the weakness that had handed her the leash.

Geoffrey rent his back to the bone at the moment of release and the welcome agony, the divine punishment, drove Jonathan over with him. As he pushed up and whirled, snarling, to return the favour of violence, their eyes met in a shock of comprehension and fear.

They had broken contact.

Only a brief gasp for air. For just a moment, inhuman eyes seemed all to human; weakened by horror, softened by regret. Without thinking, Jonathan started to reach out.

The other vampire snarled and fled.

Jonathan's recriminations returned, hard and fast and with ample fuel. The rage rolled over and swallowed him once more. No trail to follow. Redressing himself, he went back on the hunt.

He was ravenous again.  
  
**  
  
Sean knew that the dawn would come. This night would end. The darkness could not last forever.

Dr Reid had come very close, at one point. Yet he had moved away again. A deep part of Sean had longed to go to him, to comfort him, to join him. Some vestige of the oily hunger urged him to accept the offer of damnation he had long ignored. Some weariness in his soul begged him to give in.

Sean would not.

Even now, he went amongst the beds, waking those of his fold who had been fortunate enough to find work. He had deliberated over how best to protect them. The spring nights were still long enough for the vampires to prey on them as they travelled.

No Ekon would normally be so foolish as to attack a group and reveal themselves. Yet Sean remembered, too well, finding himself gnawing on bones in the pit. The vampires might not be reasonable. They might not be reasoned with.

After they had breakfasted, Sean set out into the dark morning with his flock. Like a true shepherd, keeping a wary eye for the wolves.

Sean would go with them far enough to see them to safety amid the larger herd. The Lord had granted Sean a means to protect them. Jonathan had granted him the speed he would need to use it. He could only pray it would be enough.

In a way, it was. The vampires did not come. As he saw the last pair away, across the Southwark bridge, Sean turned his eyes upwards and thanked the Lord.  
  
Then he turned, and swallowed. This would be the hardest part. The walk had consumed the last hour of true night. It was late now, and early. It was unlikely that the vampires would travel the city at this time.

Even so, he had warned Lottie to not let either of the two men enter if they came. God forgive him, but he could not stay to help her.  
  
Trusting in God, trusting in himself, Sean turned and started on the lonely route to Pembroke Hospital.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story continues in 'To Save a Dragon'  
> +Artwork, because I could ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I gave in... Doing as 3 proper parts...Thank you for bearing with my indecision! Uploads will at least weekly - usually more often - until the end :)

[Story continues in To Save a Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22364953/chapters/53430496). Thank you for reading !  
  
Uplifting Touch  
  



End file.
